«- 


Av<?  7 


A   CHILD    OF    LOVE 


BY 
CUMORAH  SMITH  BURNS 


BOSTON 

SHERMAN,    FRENCH   6-  COMPANY 
1911 


COPYRIGHT,  1911 
SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &*  COMPANY 


TO 

MY  MOTHER 
MARY  CATHERINE  SMITH 


MOTHER — thou  hast  kindly  led  me, 
Through  my  life — ne'er  taught  to  dread  thee, 
Thy  sweet  smile  hath  yearly  soothed  me, 
Mother  truly,  time  hath  proved  thee. 
Thou  hast  watched  from  birth  the  molding 
Of  my  life — a  life  unfolding 
From  a  child  to  that  of  woman, 
Oh,  how  constant  thou  hast  proven! 
Thou  hast  helped  me  bear  all  sorrow, 
From  thy  heart  hath  bid  me  borrow 
All  its  happiness  to  brighten, 
Soothe  my  heart  and  grief  enlighten. 


2135030 


Mother — can  I  bear  the  parting, 

When  thy  life  eternal  starting, 

Parts  us  here  and  tears  asunder 

Hearts  that  grew  as  one?     I  wonder 

Who  could  calm  me  then,  dear  Mother, 

Who  could  soothe  me,  oh,  none  other; 

Could  I  look  beyond  to  thee,  dear, 

Hear  thy  voice — thy  presence  be  near, 

Ever  guarding  o'er  me,  keeping 

Grief  away  and  on  me  heaping 

Joys  thy  heart  would  bid  be  mine,  to 

Make  the  Sun  of  Hope  to  shine  through? 

Mother,  let  me  love  thee  daily, 

Whilst  thou  livest,  thou  shalt  sway  me; 

Let  me  live  as  thou  hast  bid  me, 

E'en  when  Death  by  claim  hath  hid  thee, 

From  these  eyes  that  seek  thy  training, 

Ever  from  all  wrong  abstaining. 

Mother,  why  must  Death  e'er  call  thee ! 

Mother,  why  must  death  befall  thee! 


LIFE'S  STATUE 

If  sculptors  had  for  models — Life, 

And  chiseled  day  by  day, 
Each  hour,  each  year,  the  joy,  the  strife, 

And  artist's  work  display, 

What  would  the  statue's  face  portray? 

And  should  we  find  our  statue  there, 

And  gaze  into  that  face, 
Would  we  regret  the  lines  of  care, 

The  grief  with  joy  replace? 

Oh,  tell  me,  what  would  we  erase? 


A  CHILD  OF  LOVE 


"Mr  name,  my  dear  madam,  is  Doctor  De  Clue, 
My  duty  (and  pleasure)  is  to  inform  you, 
That  your  operation  is  one  day  delayed; 
Your  doctor,  dear  madam,  wants  this  news  con- 
veyed 

To  you,  and  desires  (if  I  lack  not  the  skill) 
My  message  to  brighten,  to  cheer  and  to  fill 
Your  heart  with  a  courage  that  grows  with  its 

beats, 
To-morrow  must  find  you  with  strength — Life 

competes 

With  Death — let  me  startle  you  not — no,  not  I  ? 
Then  pray  laugh  again  ere  I  bid  you  good-by ; 
Let  me  feel  that  my  message  has  done  much  to 

cheer 
Your  heart ;  that  my  words  to  you  have  quelled 

all  fear 

Of  this  operation  you  must  undergo: 
I  thank  you — your  laugh  seems  to  say  to  me, 

'No, 

I  look  for  its  happ'ning  to  bring  to  me  health, 
My  young  life  knows  naught  of  its  blessings  and 

wealth.' " 


a  CfnlD  of 


"Oh,  were  it  to-morrow  to-day,  I'm  prepared 
To  meet  all  the  pain  —  e'en  though  Death  stood 

and  stared 

At  me  —  I  should  say,  'Oh,  not  yet  shall  I  die  ! 
This  life  shall  have  health  —  'twas  not  born  just 

to  sigh.'" 
"I  bid  you  good-by,  God  give  strength  to  you 

my 
Dear  madam." 

"Good-by,    my    dear    Doctor, 

good-by." 


II 


This  madam  (oh,  madam  sounds  too  dignified, 
This  girl — oh,  why  girlhood  a  girl  be  denied!) 
Sat  motionless  long  after  this  interview, 
Her  own  self  she  knew  not — her  heart  seemed 

to  woo 
Her  thoughts.     To  her  cheeks  the  young  blood 

seemed  to  leap, 

The  first  rays  of  love  in  her  soul  seemed  to  peep, 
Her  heart's  beats  came  faster,  sent  o'er  her  a 

thrill, 
And  then  her  heart's  beats  for  a  moment  stood 

still. 

This  young  girl  sat  dreamily  thinking  of  one 
Who  had  in  her  life  just  a  few  hours  begun. 


Cfn'lD  of  Lobe  3 


This    love,    so    deep-rooted,   within   her   heart 

stole, 
Spoke    whispers    of    love    that    awakened    the 

soul. 

If  only  Dame  Reason  could  take  by  the  hand 
The  heart  and  say  to  it,  "Now  do  understand 
The  folly  of  loving  this  one  or  that,  too," 
How  well  the  wise  heart  it  would  then  act  and 

do, 

But  Love  —  how  resistless  we  are  to  its  power! 
We  suffer  long  lifetimes  from  hour  to  hour, 
And   e'en  though  we   know   its   true  meaning 

means  grief, 

We  lack  the  resistance  to  foresee  relief. 
And  a  heavenly  light  came  to  brighten  her  eyes, 
And  a  heavenly  blue  came  to  earth  from  the 

skies, 

And  the  music  of  earth  breathed  a  heavenly  lay 
That  was  caught  by  the  strings  of  that  love 

that  day; 

And  the  heavenly  chords  floated  far,  far  away, 
And  caught  the  vibration  of  love  in  their  play. 
The  music  of  love  draws  the  heaven  to  earth, 
When  it  touches  the  strings  of  our  hearts,  and 

gives  birth 
To  love  that  will  grow  in  our  souls  with  our 

breath, 
Till  our  last  breath  has  left  us  —  when  God's 

will  is  death. 


Ctu'lD  of  JLotoe 


in 

'Twas  soon  after  Easter  and  soon  after  Lent, 
Society  hungered  for  this  first  event, 
The  ball  at  the  club  to  be  given  that  night, 
By   the  Misses   La  Marge   and  a  Mrs.   John 

Dwight. 

The  madam  (a  widow  about  fifty- two, 
Perhaps  to  say  widow  of  forty  would  do, 
But  nevertheless  whether  forty  or  more), 
She  had  a  vast  fortune — (I  beg  not  to  bore 
You,  reader,  but  this  I  must  tell, 
The  madam  was  aunt  to  the  girls,  their  Aunt 

Lell). 

Her  husband  had  died  leaving  all  his  estate 
To  his  wife  and  her  nephew  and  Mary  and  Kate ; 
Miss  Mary  was  always  Miss  Mary,  you  see, 

But  Kate  spelled  her  name  with  an  "r — i — n 
e  » 

The  women  had  spent  many  weeks  to  prepare 

Their  gowns — just  what  trimming  and  jewels 
to  wear. 

"And  what  seems  to  ail  you,  dear  Doctor,  to- 
night ? 

Come,  join  us — Miss  Katherine — and  see,  Mrs. 
Dwight, 

She  misses  us — come,  mingle  with  all  the  danc- 
ers, 


C&ttD  of  Lone 


Be   quick,   'Doc' — the   music   has    started   the 

lancers." 

And  the  music !  and  women !     Did  ever  you  see 
A  picture  of  woman  more  perfect  than  she? 
There    was     Katherine     and     Chadwick — they 

waltzed  o'er  the  floor, 

And  Bateman — his  partner  he  seemed  to  adore, 
And  the  nephew,  La  Marge — very  much  had 

been  said 
That  night  and  before,  since  the  news  had  been 

spread 

That  he  and  Miss  Chatalainc  Hall  were  to  wed. 
And  the  dancers — they  danced  until  far  in  the 

night, 
And  the  last   good-night  lingered   till  dawn's 

early  light. 

The  pleasure  itself  is  so  often  surpassed 

By   the   sweet    retrospection   of   it,   when   it's 

passed, 

And  just  so  with  sorrow — we  live  every  day, 
Our  griefs  and  our  sorrows — till  they  fade,  fade 

away. 
The  moon  sweetly  beaming,  and  this  star  and 

that, 

Not  once  saw  the  doctor  as  upright  he  sat 
Beside  a  raised  window.     No  light  was  within 
This  window  to  warn  you  that  some  one  had 

been 


CfrflD  of  JLotoe 


Too  restless  to  sleep,  so  had  taken  a  chair 
And  sat  by  the  window  to  breathe  the  fresh  air. 
The  pale  face  looked  haggard  and  restless  and 

worn, 

His  eyes  had  a  stare  as  if  tears  had  been  torn 
From  out  them — yet  not  the  wild  tears  that  are 

wet, 
But  tears  that  tear  more  by  their  dryness.    And 

yet 

The  stars,  one  by  one,  bid  the  night  an  adieu, 
And  still  the  dear  doctor,  more  restless  he  grew : 
"0  beautiful  Woman — what  will  be  your  fate! 
To-morrow  will  tell — until  then  must  we  wait. 
O  God,  couldst  Thou  take  from  this  earth  one 

so  fair ! 
O  God,  give  the  earth  this  one  angel  to  share !" 


IV 


This   dear   girl,   this    madam,   awoke   with   the 

dawn ; 
The  darkness  that  covered  the  night  was  all 

gone, 
The  birds  in  their  nests  sang  their  songs  to  the 

morn, 
In   greeting   of   Day — with   each   day   that   is 

born. 


of  Lofce 


The  dew-caressed  air  from  the  window  slipped 

through 
And  fanned  the  young  face  as  up  nearer  it 

drew; 

A  stillness  unbroken  reigned  over  the  earth, 
As  if  it  had  failed  to  see  morn  in  its  birth. 
By  silence,  held  spellbound,  she  feared  e'en  to 

wake, 
Wake  wider  for  fear  this  queer  spell  she  would 

break, — 

A  spell  that  dulls  all  sense  of  all  that  is  real, 
And  from  the  heart's  depths — all  that's  real  will 

conceal. 

She  lay  thus  half  conscious  of  all  else  around, 
She  was  not  disturbed  by  another,  no  sound 
Once  broke  the  still  quiet — she  heard  not  one 

moan 

To  tell  her  she  was  not  in  sickness  alone. 
The  dawn  passed  away  with  the  rise  of  the  sun, 
And  then  in  the  hall-way,  a  whistle  blew  one; 
A  nurse  all  in  white  quickly  rushed  past  the 

door, 

And  then  back  again  where  she  had  been  before. 
This    whistle — what    could    its    weird    meaning 

have  meant! 

A  shudder  of  terror  o'er  her  heart  was  sent, 
She  turned,  gave  a  cough  in  relief  to  her  fear, 
And  just  in   an  instant  the  kind  nurse  stood 

near. 


8  a  C&iiD  of  Lotoe 

"And  how  is  my  dear  little  patient,"  she  said, 
"This  morning?     Your  cheeks  are  like  roses  so 

red, 

You  have  not  a  fever,  no  one  would  suspect 
That  this  little  patient  of  mine  must  subject 
Herself  to  the  skill  of  a  surgeon  to  save 
Her  life — poor  child — oh,  what  health  you  must 

crave." 
How  often  Death's  clutch  weaves  about  us  in 

life, 
And  makes  each  year's  living  a  struggle  and 

strife, 
And  just  when  we're  found  on  the  brink  of  the 

grave, 
There  comes   one  to  help  us,  so  mighty  and 

brave ; 
Yet   Death   feels   its   power   so   great   and   so 

strong, 

It  laughs  at  all  efforts  to  make  right  the  wrong, 
But  if  it  is  baffled,  it  lurks  off  aside, 
And  smiles  with  a  vengeance,  and  Health  is  de- 
fied 

To  linger  not  longer  than  Youth  shall  see  fit, 
And  Death  watches  closely  till  Youth  it  sees  flit 
By,  slowly  at  first,  but  the  farther  it  goes, 
The  faster,  until  into  Age  this  Youth  grows. 
And    Death    watches    ceaselessly    all    through 

these  years, 
To  step  back  again  in  this  body  of  fears, 


CfjilD  of  Lotoe 


But  though  it's  defeated  in  youth's  younger 

life, 

It's  bound  to  be  victor  at  last  in  the  strife. 
"I'm  well,  thank  you,  nurse,  although  health 

do  I  feign, 
My    young    life   has    never   been    without    its 

pain, 
I've  suffered  long  years — all  through  childhood, 

and  now 

I  feel  my  heart  heavy — a  frown  knit  my  brow, 
No,  no,  nurse,  not  heavy  with  fear  of  to-day, 
I  mean  to  be  brave — to  be  cheerful  and  say 
To  my  dear  physician  and  to  you,  dear  nurse, 
'I'm  thankful  for  what  is — it  might  have  been 

worse.' ' 
The  smile  from  the  nurse  as   she  washed  the 

sweet  face 

And  hands  of  her  patient  did  much  to  erase 
All  fears  the  young  patient  might  have  kept 

withheld 

Within  her  young  heart.  If  a  look  had  beheld 
Far  down  in  its  depths  and  had  seen  it  to  be 
The  heart  of  a  woman — what  fear  did  it  see. 
With  soft  gentle  strokes,  the  nurse  brushed  her 

hair, 

The  sun  sent  its  beams  to  its  goldness  so  rare, 
Its  looseness  was  held  by  a  blue  ribbon  bow, 
That  watched  the  loose  waves  of  the  hair  come 

and  go. 


10  a  Ci)iID  of  JLotoe 

"Oh  nurse,  ere  you  leave  me,  pray  how  shall  I 

know 
Just  when  comes  the  hour  and  the  minute  to 

go?" 

"Just  list  for  the  whistle,  and  when  it  blows  five, 
Your  doctor,  dear  patient,  will  just  then  ar- 
rive; 

But  pray  do  not  worry,  I'll  not  leave  you  long, 
I'll  stand  right  beside  you,  then  naught  shall 

go  wrong." 
And  with  a  light  laugh  the  dear  nurse  closed 

the  door, 

And  left  the  young  girl  all  alone  as  before. 
The  whistle,  she  heard  whistle  one,  sometimes 

two, 
Her  heart  gave  great  leaps  as  the  time  nearer 

drew; 

She  took  up  her  diary  and  tried  to  record 
The  last  few  days'  happ'nings — her  thoughts 

she  had  stored 
Within    her — she   tried    vainly    to    write    them 

down,  , 

But    something   resisted — her   eyes   drooped   a 

frown, 
'Twas    something   recorded   down   deep   in   her 

heart, 

'Twas  something  she  could  not  to  diary  impart. 
There    are   thoughts   that    a  heart   very   often 

possesses, 


a  CfrilD  of  Lotte 11 

That  remain  unobserved  in  its  deepest  recesses, 
There    are    moments    when    love-thoughts    are 

often  recorded, 
Far  down  deep  in  our  hearts  where  no  view  is 

afforded. 
She  closed  the  dear  book,  her  companion  for 

years, 

To  whom  she'd  confided  all  joys  and  all  fears, 
The  pencil  fell  listlessly  down  on  the  floor, 
And  at  that  same  moment  the  nurse  oped  the 

door. 

"Your  mother  and  sisters  (if  I  am  quite  right) 
Desire  to  be  with  you — you  may  now  invite 
Your  husband  in  also  to  see  you  once  more, 
No,  no,  my  dear  child — no,  not  five — it  blew 

four." 

The  mother  gazed  earnestly  into  the  face 
Of  one  she  had  raised  from  the  cradle,  to  grace 
Of  womanhood — now  as  if  torn  from  her  heart 
Her  child — and  in  tearing  left  ragged  and  raw 
The  heart  of  this  mother  as  she  gazed  and  saw 
Her  daughter.  She  never  had  seemed  quite  so 

dear 
As  when  the  clock's  ticks  brought  the  time  close 

and  near. 
The  husband  drew  back,  just  to  keep  back  a 

tear, 
They  all  spoke  of  courage,  though  ladened  with 

fear. 


a  C&ilD  of  Lotoe 


"I  wonder  what  time  it  is,  nurse,  it  seems  late, 
The  time  passes  slowly  to  one  who  must  wait, 
For  my  own  amusement  you  must  all  contrive." 
Just  then  in  the  hall-way,  the  whistle  blew  five. 
Each  face  spoke  its  thoughts,  words  were  use- 

less to  frame, 

A  smile  o'er  the  tears  of  each  face  sadly  came, 
The  nurse  took  the  hand  of  her  patient  and  said, 
"This  way  dear"  —  as  up  the  stairs  she  kindly 

led. 

The  nurse  stood  beside  her  as  she  entered  in 
This  room  all  hi)  whiteness  where  Health  was  to 

win 

In  battle  with  Death,  and  she  felt  oh!  so  brave, 
And  knew  the  skilled  doctors  her  young  life 

would  save. 

She  lay  on  a  couch,  the  nurse  holding  her  hand, 
And  then  came  a  doctor  in  white  to  stand 
Beside  her  a  moment.     She  watched  the  white 

cap 
He  wore  on  his  head  —  her  soft  eyes  seemed  to 

sap 
More    strength    from    his    strength  —  he    then 

placed  o'er  her  face 

A  mask  of  the  ether,  and  soon  into  space, 
She   seemed   to  be  flying,  her  ears   ceased  to 

hear 
All  sounds  from  this  earth,  and  sweet  sleep, 

soothed  her  fear. 


of  LotJe  13 


Far  off  in  the  distance  a  low  muffled  roll 
Of  thunder  came  pealing;  the  lightning  stole 
In,  just  for  an  instant  as  if  it  had  seen 
All  earth's  secret  corners  in  one  second's  gleam. 
The  rain,  it  fell  gently,  serenely  and  slow, 
Contented  to  let  its  rain-drops  gently  flow, 
The  air,  wet  and  gloomy,  yet  peaceful  and  mild, 
Reminded  one  not  of  a  storm  fierce  and  wild. 
The  flashes  of  lightning  more  vividly  came, 
And  each  flash  of  lightning  made  earth  more 

aflame, 

The  noise  of  the  thunder  increased  in  its  might, 
Devoid    of   its   lightning — the    day   turned   to 

night. 

If  ever  the  earth  seemed  to  sob  and  to  cry, 
It  spoke  its  emotion  this  day  in  a  sigh. 
The  mother  and  sisters  and  husband  remained 
Alone  in  the  waiting-room — silence  proclaimed 
The   greatness    of   each   one's    suspense   as    in 

thought 
Each   one   lived   in   doubt   of  the   news   to  be 

brought. 

A  clock  in  the  corner  measured  the  time, 
Its  pendulum  swung  with  a  meter  and  rhyme 
That    measured    precisely,    though    slowly    it 

swayed 


CfrilE  of  iLotie 


To  this  side  and  that,  the  time  was  not  delayed. 
As  out  of  the  window  they  mournfully  gazed, 
Their  hearts  for  a  moment  were  painfully  dazed, 
They  saw  a  large  wagon  drive  up  to  the  door 
And  take  one  away,  one  in  death  evermore. 
Just  then  came  a  nurse,  and  to  husband  she 

said, 
"You're  wanted  up  stairs"  —  and  the  way  she 

then  led, 

And  soon  he  returned,  the  glad  tidings  to  give 
To    mother    and   sisters  —  "My   wife  —  she   will 

live!" 

VI 

Some  few  days  had  passed  and  each  day  be- 

stowed gain, 

The  nurses  did  much  to  alleviate  pain, 
The  doctor  each  morning  came  to  her  bed-side, 
To  learn  her  condition  and  to  nurse  confide 
In  medical  terms  all  the  causes  of  this 
Or  that.     To  the  patient,  this  meaning  to  miss, 
Was  cause  of  much  wonder  —  but  less  her  alarm, 
If  she  knew  no  cause  for  what  might  do  her 

harm. 
The  nurse,  in  and  out,  throughout  all  the  long 


First  felt  her  pulse-beats  as  a  watch  open  lay 
Upon  a  small  table  that  stood  just  beside 


3  CtrilD  of  Lotie is 

Her  bed;  then  in  under  her  tongue  she  would 

hide 

A  little  glass  tube  that  had  figures  to  tell 
The  height  of  her  fever  and  if  all  were  well. 
The  nurse  served  for  breakfast  a  small  piece 

of  toast, 
And  said,  "Now  have  patience  and  soon  you'll 

have  roast 

Of  beef,  mashed  potatoes,  all  else  you  desire, 
But  for  a  few  days,  of  your  fare  do  not  tire." 
Each  day  from  a  friend  came  a  lovely  bouquet, 
Each  flower  spoke  the  thoughts  of  the  giver  that 

day, 

And  sweet  is  the  sentiment  sent  by  the  rose; 
Oh,  tell  me  if  ever  a  flower  grows, 
That  failed  to  express  by  its  beauty  or  scent, 
The  feeling  the  giver  in  sending  it  lent. 
"And  so  these  are  emblems  of  friends,  I  presume, 
Two  friends,  perchance  more,  to  each  flower  in 

this   room." 

"Oh,  yes,  but  my  friends  do  not  wither  and  die 
As   these  poor  dear  flowers   do — it  makes   my 

heart  sigh 
To  see  their  heads  droop  in  their  beauty  and 

prime, 

Oh,  would  all  could  live — all  that  is  so  sub- 
lime!" 
"But  sometimes  a  wish  of  that  kind  will  come 

true, 


16 3  CfrilD  of  Lotte 

We  know  God  is  everywhere,  e'en  in  the  dew 
That  brightens  the  roses  in  earth's  early  dawn, 
And  then  in  the  rain  when  the  dew-drops   are 

gone, 

And  sometime  I'll  tell  you  a  story,  my  dear, 
It's  old,  very  old,  but  I  want  you  to  hear 
This  story  of  love." 

"Love  is  never  so  old, 
But  that  it  is  sweet  whenever  it's  told." 
"Suppose  I  should  tell  you  a  story  that's  true, 
And  tell  you — there  once  was  a  woman  I  knew, 
That   I  prayed  might  live — in  prayer  I  gave 

vent, 

And  God  seemed  to  pity  me — life  He  lent ; 
He  left  the  dear  angel  to  me,  in  my  care, 
With  her,  my  heart's  blood,  to  save  her  I  would 

share, 

Her  life  is  my  life,  though  I  never  can  claim, 
Oh,  would  I  could  give  to  this  woman  my  name !" 
"But  Doctor  De  Clue,  will  you  tell  me  the  name 
Of  this  woman  fair,  and  do  tell  me  how  came 
This  woman  to  weave  herself  into  your  heart, 
To  live,  as  you  say,  in  your  life  ne'er  to  part ; 
Of  women  there're  many  now  under  your  care, 
Pray,  tell  me,  pray,  who  is  this  woman  so  fair, 
To  me  do  confide,  I'll  lock  up  in  my  heart, 
The  secret  to  me  that  you  may  trust  to  'part." 
"This  woman — she  looks  through  your  eyes  soft 

and  blue, 


CfrilE  of  Lotie  n 


This  woman  —  she  speaks  with  your  voice  sweet 

and  true, 
This  woman  —  she  hears  with  your  ears  when  I 

say, 

I  love  her  —  love  truly,  my  love  will  not  sway, 
This  woman  —  she  smiles  when  your  face  sends 

a  gleam 
Of   sunshine    to    where    the   sunshine   needs   to 

stream, 
This  woman  —  who   down  in  my  heart  tightly 

grew, 

This  woman  —  0  Woman  —  this  woman  is  you." 
A  blush  quickly  crept  to  the  cheeks  of  this  girl, 
Her  hair,  in  its  pity,  dropped  one  golden  curl 
To  cover  her  eyes  as  they  drooped  low  and  gazed 
At  what,  she  knew  not,  her  sweet  thoughts 

seemed  so  dazed. 
The  doctor  with  fondness  picked  up  the  white 

hand, 

And  said  to  his  patient,  —  "I  do  understand 
That  I  have  alarmed  you,  your  pulse  beats  in 

fear 
Like  some  beating  heart  of  a  bird,  sweetheart 

dear. 

This  morn  when  I  saw  you,  I  could  not  resist 
To  tell  you  I  love  you  —  though  now  I  insist 
That  you  must  me  pardon  for  all  I  have  said." 
He  gazed  as  he  spoke  on  the  cheeks  flushed  and 

red. 


is  a  Cfjild  of  Lotoe 

His  pardon  was  granted — she  looked  in  his  eyes, 
And  each  looked  beyond  each  one's  eyes : — as 

love  flies 

From  one  to  the  other,  no  words  need  be  spoke, 
A  silence  in  love  is  best  left — left  unbroke. 
And  the  story  of  love — whenever  it's  told, 
Is  sweet  when  it's  new — and  sweet  when  it's  old. 


VII 

When  love  first  awakes  in  the  soul  of  a  heart, 
And    far   down   within   its    depths,   love's   fire 

starts, 

We  watch  the  flames  flicker,  burn  slowly  at  first, 
And  then  the  fire  leap  as  the  flames  fiercer  burst. 
We  try,  but  in  vain,  their  wild  fury  to  doom, 
We  watch  the  wild  flames  as  the  heart  they  con- 
sume, 

We  call,  cry  for  help,  but  none  come  to  our  aid, 
They  all  stand  aside, — awed  by  fear  and  afraid. 
The  fire  runs  its  course,  leaves  the  heart  a  red 

coal, 

To  burn  with  its  beats  far  down  deep  in  the  soul, 
But  though  it's  a  torch,  fear  no  fire  will  e'er 

start 

To  leap  up  again  in  the  ruins  of  this  heart. 
This  love  he  had  whispered  made  her  sadly  feel, 
That  all  of  life's  happiness  was  the  unreal; 


3  Cftiltt  of  ILotte 19 

Her  wild  dreams  of  love  she  from  childhood  had 

framed, 
Were  now  hung  before  her ;  oh !  could  she  have 

claimed 
The  picture  she  saw  now  beyond  her  heart's 

grasp, 

Her  eyes  just  to  look  on,  not  hers  to  clasp. 
Her  frail  body  shuddered  and  quivered  within, 
The  gate-way  to  heaven  showed  Grief  was  to 

win, 
She  felt  the  gates  close  against  her  young  sweet 

life, 
That  she  until  death  was  another  man's  wife! 

One  morn  as  she  lay  in  a  slumber  to  rest, 
Two  snowy-white  hands  falling  o'er  her  white 

breast, 

A  smile  o'er  her  face  in  her  sleep  softly  crept, 
That  lighted  her  face  to  a  glow  as  she  slept. 
The  doctor  stole  noiselessly  to  her  bed-side, 
He  watched  the  sweet  rays  o'er  her  face  softly 

glide, 

Enchanted  he  gazed  on  the  vision  so  fair, 
And  soon  her  eyes  opened,  her  smile  still  was 

there. 
"Now,  tell,  inasmuch  as  I've  watched  your  sweet 

rest, 
Pray,  tell  me  the  dream  that  brought  joy  to 

your  breast, 


20  a  CfrilD  of 


Your  heart  has  a  right  when  it's  dulled  by  a 

sleep, 

To  live  as  it  would,  its  heart's  pleasure  seek." 
"I  pray  you  to  list  and  I'll  try  to  narrate, 
The  dream  filled  with  bliss  I  shall  try  to  relate 
To  you,  if  with  patience  you'll  promise  to  wait 
Until  from  beginning  to  end  I  state. 
I  dreamed  I,  in  search  of  more  health,  went 

away, 

Away  to  the  South  for  a  month  to  stay, 
When  lo  !  at  the  same  hotel  I  made  my  home, 
I  met  you,  dear  Doctor,  you  sought  health  to 

roam. 

One  day  in  the  parlor  as  I  sat  to  play 
A  strain  of  sweet  music,  all  grief  to  allay, 
You  listened  beside  me,  my  heart  I  unfurled, 
And  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had  the  world. 
But  dreams  are  but  dreams  based  upon  the  un- 

real, 

There's  always  a  heart  will  another  heart  steal, 
And  bask  in  the  love  that  is  always  denied, 
And  all  its  heart's  love  it  will  truly  confide." 
Oh,  sleep,  gentle  heart,  if  in  slumber  you  find, 
The  joys  of  your  heart  that  will  round  your  eyes 

bind 

A  veil  of  love's  happiness  to  keep  away 
The  vision  of  grief  that  is  with  you  by  day. 
The  nurse,  with  her  chart,  came  to  do  what  she 

could 


3  CfrtlD  of  Lone 


To  assist  the  dear  doctor  ;  beside  him  she  stood, 
He  glanced   o'er  the   paper   and   said   with   a 

smile, 
"My  patient  may  sit  up  to-day  for  awhile." 


vin 

A  week  more  passed  by  and  with  it  brought  the 
day 

That  brought  to  a  close  the  brief  hospital  stay ; 

The  nurse  helped  her  dress,  and  then  out  in  the 
hall 

She  sat  by  a  window,  reflecting  of  all 

Within  the  last  month  that  had  taken  place; 

In   sad  retrospection   she  gazed  into  space. 

The  doctors  in  turn  came  to  read  the  report 

Each  chart  had  recorded, — a  nurse  would  es- 
cort 

Occasionally,  if  the  case  were  severe, 

And  whispers  of  worry  the  dear  girl  would  hear. 

The  trees  were  all  budding — 'twas  May — it 
was  spring, 

The  sun  and  the  rain  did  their  duty  to  bring 

The  blossoms  that  lent  to  the  air  their  per- 
fume, 

And  covered  the  earth  in  a  garden  of  bloom. 

The  rain  fell  to  bathe  the  green  foliage  new, 

That  was  not  yet  conscious  of  its  relieved  dew ; 


ss  a  CfrilD  of 


The  work  of  the  birds  was  now  being  delayed 
On  nests  they  were  building,  on  homes  to  be 

made. 

"And  why  such  a  look  of  depression  this  morn? 
Can  not  brighter  thoughts  from  such  sunshine 

be  born? 

Because  it  is  gloomy  and  gray  all  without, 
Is  no  reason  why  you  should  look  so  devout. 
Ah  !  there  !  that  is  better,  'tis  best  you  should 

look 
With   smiles,  —  it  is   true  your   dear   face   is   a 

book 

That  discloses  all,  should  one  closely  it  scan  ; 
I  find  it  a  pleasure  to  read  what  I  can." 
"Quite  true,  but  true  also,  you  must  not  ex- 

pect 

To  always  find  sunshine,  if  sun  will  neglect; 
If  sun  hides  its  rays  from  us  e'en  for  a  day, 
There're  bound  to  be  shadows  o'er  our  bodies 

play. 

"Supposing  the  flowers  in  the  garden 
Were  the  warmth  of  the  sun  denied, 

Would  they  bloom  with  their  beauty  and 

fragrance, 
As  they  would  were  the  rays  imbibed? 


Cin'lD  of 


"Supposing  it  left  them  at  twilight 
And  never  returned  with  a  dawn, 

Would  there  be  any  life  to  the  roses, 
If  the  light  of  the  sun  were  gone? 

"Would  they   fade   on  their   stems  in   the 

nighttime, 
Would  the  dew  gather  round  them  and 

pine, 

Would  the  drops  be  the  tear-drops  lament- 
ing 
For  the  withering  roses'  decline? 

"Would  the  wind  rustle  through  the  dead 

petals 

And  waft  the  sweet  scent  to  the  skies, 
As  the  soul  of  the  rose  flew  to  heaven, 
When  the  wail  of  the  breeze  spoke  its 
sighs  ? 

"And  like  unto  us  are  the  roses, 
And  like  unto  love  is  the  sun, 

And  many  a  heart  dies  and  withers 
Ere  scarcely  its  life  has  begun. 

"And  sad  are  the  tears  in  this  twilight, 
That  fall  o'er  the  petals  of  life ; 

And  sad  are  the  breezes  that  ruffle 
The  memories  of  sorrow  and  strife. 


g  Cirilfr  of 


"And  sad  is  the  dirge  the  wind  murmurs, 
As  o'er  the  loose  leaves  the  breeze  blows  ; 

When    Nightfall    brings    death,    all    that 

lingers 
Is  the  perfume  the  sun  gave  the  rose. 


"To-day  I  must  leave  you,  I  must  say  good-by, 
No  longer  your  patient,   the   time  has   drawn 

nigh, 
When  one  path  divides  that  in  life  chanced  to 

meet, 

Divides  off  in  two  as  before,  and  both  fleet, 
Each  one  in  its  course,  that  grows  wider  and 

makes 
No    chance    of   their    meeting    again    when    it 

breaks." 
"But  no — speak  not   so — I  shall  watch   your 

dear  path, 

E'en  though  I  must  follow,  be  your  aftermath ; 
I  could  not  see  you  go  to  left  or  to  right, 
Unless  I,  too,  followed  you,  on  in  your  flight. 
Oh,  pray,  will  you  grant  me  the  privilege  to  see 
You  once  in  a  while,  in  your  sweet  presence  be? 
Ah!  just  to  enfold  you  close  unto  my  breast, 
And  there  on  my  bosom  your  sweet  head  to  rest, 
To  drink  with  my  eyes,  as  in  your  eyes  I  look, 
The    love   that's    as    endless    as    some   flowing 

brook ! 


3  CfrilD  of  Lotie 25 

To  kiss  your  sweet  lips  and  with  that  kiss  to 

say, 

'I  love  you,  my  darling,  by  night  and  by  day, 
I  love  you,  believe  me,  your  love  is  my  goal, 
Love   with    all   the   passion   of   my   heart   and 

soul!' 

Ah!  just  to  take  you  in  my  arms,  child  so  fair, 
And  let  my  heart  beat  for  you,  all  your  despair, 
All  anguish  and  grief  from  your  heart  to  re- 
lease, 
Though   madam   you   are — you   are   my   dear 

Chlorice !" 
"Nay,  nay,  speak  not  love,  lest  my  heart  you 

will  kill, 

I  feel  my  heart  burst  as  with  love  you  fill 
Its  depths  with  the  love  it  now  always  shall 

crave, 

And  kill  at  the  same  time  it  shall  try  to  save. 
Though  eyes  that  are  mine,  I  must  blind  from 

their  view 

All  visions  of  love  I  might  see  when  you  woo ; 
My  heart   must  not  hear  when  my   ears  hear 

you  say, 

'I  love  you,  love  truly,  by  night  and  by  day.' ' 
"O  child,  thus  to  part  from  me,  you  can  not 

know 
How  my  poor  heart  aches, — I  can  not  let  you 

go; 
Oh,  could  I  but  linger  forever  by  you, 


26  a  CfrilD  of 


To  gaze  in  your  face  and  the  whole  world  to 

view! 
To  love  you  makes  lighter  each  day's  weary 

tasks, 
The    whole    world    is    you,    'tis    your   love    my 

heart  asks, 
Oh,   tell   me,   dear   woman,   that   you   will   not 

part 
From  me,  now  so  lonely,  since  Love  waked  my 

heart." 
"Oh,  why  bid  my  heart  to  speak  what  it  would 

say, 

I  can  not  in  words  my  own  feelings  portray  ; 
Each  day,  asj  it  comes,  ushers  in  its  day's  fate, 
None  can  see  ahead  —  each  one  must  watch  and 

wait. 

Ah  !  better,  far  better  I  never  had  heard 
Your  wild  words  of  love,  for  the  hearing  has 

stirred 

My  heart  to  cry  out  for  you.     I  must  deny 
My  heart  all  its  love,  I  must  smother  its  cry. 
Oh,   hush  —  hush  —  this   love,   you   have   fanned 

into  flame 
Must    fade    back    to    embers    again    whence    it 

came." 
"But    why   must   you    smother    the    love    born 

within 

Your  heart?  —  if  to  love  you  is  sin  —  then  I  sin, 
And  could  not  do  otherwise,  e'en  if  I  would  ; 


CfrflD  of  Lotie  27 


Chlorice  —  love  creates  all  that's  great  and  that's 

good. 

It  wipes  away  evil  and  makes  men  of  men; 
To  tell  of  its  power  —  no  pencil  or  pen 
Could   sketch  to   reflect   it   all   over  again. 
To  claim  you  as  mine  and  to  hold  to  my  breast 
My  sweetheart  —  my  wife  —  ah!  dear,  were  I  so 

blest, 

The  sun  could  cease  shining,  I  never  should  miss 
The  warmth  of  its  rays,  if  God  granted  me  this. 
Ah  !  let  me  but  nourish  one  sweet  ray  of  hope, 
Its  light  ever  shining  to  lead  when  I  grope 
Through  life,  ever  seeking  to  be  by  your  side, 
And  seeking  your  love,  e'en  though  love  be 

denied. 
This  light,  dear,  could  guide  me  to  you  in  my 

dreams, 
Through  day  and  through  night  it  could  send 

its:  sweet  gleams 

Out  far  in  the  darkness,  until  unto  me 
The  soft  rays  would  shine  and  your  sweet  face 

I'd  see. 

To  claim  you  as  wife  and  as  mother  of  mine, 
Oh,  God  !  —  e'en  in  dreams  —  oh,  such  dreams  are 

divine  !" 

"No,  no,  I  must  follow  the  path  Fate  gave  me, 
Must  walk  in  its  boundary,  none  other  must  see, 
Though  others  are  strewn  from  beginning  to 

end 


a  CftilD  oC  Lotie 


With  the  sweetest  of  roses,  not  one  must  they 

lend. 
There  are  two  kinds  of  sorrow,  their  source  is 

the  same, 

They  rise  in  the  heart  when  the  heart  is  aflame  ; 
The  gate-way  to  one  leads  us  on  to  believe 
That  love  is  for  everyone  —  fools  alone  grieve. 
The  other  —  its  gate-way  is  dismal  and  lonely, 
And  few  ever  enter  it  —  one  by  one  only. 
And  one  or  the  other  we  each  one  must  choose, 
We  ne'er  can  retrace,  though  we  win  or  we 

lose; 

And  oh  !  what  compares  to  the  sorrow  of  sin  ! 
In  virtue  there's  recompense,  suffer  to  win: 
To  conquer  ourselves  is  the  greatest  of  all 
The  conquests  before  us  —  to  lose  is  to  fall." 
"Sweet  angel  from  heaven  —  I  suffer  to  part 
From  what  I  desire  most  of  all  ;  my  poor  heart 
Must  relinquish  all  hope  —  I  shall  crush  at  your 

will, 

All  feelings  I  hold  in  my  heart  —  I  must  kill. 
But  let  me  this  chain  clasp  around  your  white 

throat, 
Let  this   golden  heart   to  you,  my  own  heart 

quote, 
And    say    to   you    always  —  'I   love    you  —  love 

you, 

And  on  until  death  I  shall  ever  be  true.'  ' 
"This  gift  I  will  cherish  —  I'll  list  to  its  voice, 


Cfn'lD  of  Lotoe 


And  when  its  heart  speaks,  then  my  heart  will 

rejoice; 
My  heart  need  not  speak,  it  can  just  list  and 

hear 

The  love  in  my  heart  as  it  rests  close  and  near." 
"God  bless  you  forever,  and  help  me  to  care 
For  my  sweetheart  darling,  and  help  me  to  bear 
The  grief  of  this  parting — in  duty  find  peace, 
And  now  I  must  say  to  you — 'Good-by,  Chlo- 

rice.'  " 


If  we  were  born  blind,  not  accustomed  to  light, 
Our  hearts  would  find  joys  in  the  darkness  of 

night ; 

If  we  were  born  deaf,  not  accustomed  to  sound, 
The  sweet  notes  of  nature,  the  harmony  found 
Throughout  the  whole  universe,  oh,  tell  me  this, 
If  we  were  born  deaf,  then  what  would  our 

hearts  miss? 

The  blessings  of  life,  to  recount  them  are  many, 
Oh,  what  are  the  blessings  withheld,  are  there 

any? 

If  any  there  are,  let  their  sweetness  be  blown 
Beyond  us — the  blessings  denied  us  ne'er  known. 
Oh,  tell  me,  was  ever  a  perfume  so  sweet 
That  failed  to  entice — by  its  fumes  meet  defeat  ? 


30 g  CjrilD  of  Lotie 

Or  sounds  from  a  sweet-stringed  instrument 
play 

That   failed   to   enchant  by   its   mystic  lay? 

The  grass,  in  the  spring,  though  we  cover  with 
sod, 

Will  burst  forth  anew  to  its  sunshine,  its  God ; 

The  rain  falls  to  earth  to  be  drawn  back  again 

To  heaven,  to  fall  back  to  earth  once  again ; 

And  the  valley  of  earth  in  its  rich  garb  of 
bloom 

Is  nourished  by  rain  that  the  sun's  rays  con- 
sume. 

Did  ever  God  turn  from  the  wild-rose  or  clover 

Or  dandelion,  sunflower,  the  whole  wide  world 
over, 

To  nourish  more  fully  the  lilies  or  roses 

That  stand  more  majestic  than  these  sweet  wild 
posies? 

Were  seeds  ever  scattered  in  earth's  fertile 
soil 

To  listlessly  linger  in  sod  to  despoil? 

Or,  crushed  in  their  bursting,  denied  their  ex- 
istence, 

Did  ever  a  seed  from  its  God  meet  resistance? 

Then,  why  should  we  quell  all  our  feelings  of 
love  ? 

We  are  what  we  are  from  our  God  up  above, 

Or  below — or  beside — wherever  God  is, 

Our  feelings  are  God's — our  beings  are  His. 

Then,  why  we  resist — do  we  think  that  man, 


ClrilD  of  Lotie  3i 


This  subject  of  God's,  can  do  more  than  He 

can? 

We  love,  and  we  must  —  to  love  is  God's  will, 
God  granted  us  love  —  then  our  mission  fulfill. 

The  next  few  years  brought  about  many  vast 

changes, 
Chlorice  went  abroad,  from  the  West's  moun- 

tain ranges,! 

To  study  her  music  —  to  give  her  whole  thought 
To  art  —  to  become  world  renowned  —  thus  she 

sought 

Diversion   from  sorrow  —  thus  sought  to  fill 
The  emptiness  felt  in  her  bosom,  and  kill 
The  feelings  she   cherished,  yet  dared  not  let 

bloom, 
For  fear  they  in  blooming,  her  soul  would  con- 

sume. 

She  studied  most  earnestly,  year  after  year, 
With  masters  of  Europe.     To  see  and  to  hear 
Her  play  was  like  poetry,  to  eye  and  to  ear. 

One  late  afternoon  came  a  note  in  which  read, 
"Chlorice,  I   am  ill,  I  can  not  leave  my  bed; 
My  place  at  the  concert  to-night  you  must  fill." 
Her  heart,  as  she  read,  for  the  moment  stood 

still. 
"My   carriage   will   call   for  you   promptly   at 

eight, 
Enclosed  is  a  program  —  the  numbers  to  state." 


3  CfrilE  of  Lotie 


She  trembled  bewildered,  she  walked  to  and  fro, 
She  read  —  then  reread  —  as  the  sun  setting  low 
Reminded  her  time  was  fast  flitting  away, 
And  Time  never  lengthens  the  night  or  the  day. 
How  often  the  goal  of  our  life  is  attained 
Unnoticed  by  us,  the  headway  we've  gained 
By  struggles  untiring  is  often  concealed 
From  us,  till  the  fruit  of  our  work  is  revealed, 
As  streams  from  the  mountains  flow  down  to  the 

creek 

To  rush  madly  on  to  the  ocean  they  seek  ; 
And  then  —  oh,  I  wonder  what  wild  ecstasy 
Is  felt  at  the  meeting  when  streams  meet  the 

sea; 

Or  do  they  so  blend  when  the  waters  unite 
That   each   fails   to   realize   the   great   ocean's 

might  ? 
As  air  fails  to  outline  the  sweet  flower's  per- 

fume, 
So  seas  fail  to  outline  the  streams  they  con- 

sume. 

The    concert,    when    women     that    night    as- 

sembled, 

Bejeweled  and  gorgeously  gowned,  resembled 
The  sparkling  stars  on  a  midsummer's  night, 
The  great  admiration  of  all  to  invite. 
Each  woman  was  crowned  with  a  halo  of  hair 
That  glistened  from  under  the  light's  brilliant 

glare, 


Cirilti  of  Lotte  33 


Each  gesture,  each  movement,  sent  forth  a  per- 

fume 

As  odors  arise  from  a  flower-bed  in  bloom. 
Refinement  and  culture  is  often  detected 
By  perfumes  that  waft  at  their  will  unprotected, 
By  baby-kept  women  whose  every  breath  stirs, 
Enchants  while  it  speaks  of  the  elegance  theirs. 
The  audience  sat  in  a  dreamy  composure, 
Like  dawn  softly  breaking  the  bright  day's  dis- 

closure ; 
Each  one  knew  that  "Madame  Chlorice"  was 

to  play, 
The   papers  had  published  the  program  that 

day. 

Reporters  and  critics  and  masters  attended 
To  censure  or  praise,  as  the  case  recommended  : 
And  the  curtain  crept  peacefully  up  to  reveal 
The  stage  with  its  large  Steinway  Grand.     One 

could  feel 

A  sweet  touch  of  harmony  in  its  portrayal 
Of  beauty  and  art,  hand  in  hand.     Who  denies 
That  beauty  appeals  to  the  heart  through  the 

eyes  ! 
Our   ears    absorb    pleasure   when   list'ning   to 

art, 

But  oh  !  how  it  multiplies  down  in  our  heart, 
When  imprints  are  taken  of  sound  by  our  ears, 
Increased  tenfold  more  as  the  vision  appears. 
Did  ever  you  watch  for  the  outlines  of  grief 
Revealing  one's  soul?     As  the  pencil-writ  leaf 


34 g  CfrilD  of  ILotte 

Reveals  to  the  reader  the  heart's  silent  crying, 
The  grief-written  face  speaks  its  heart  without 

trying. 

And  oh,  how  it  strengthens  !  how  strangely  mag- 
netic 

The  influence  felt  in  a  manner  pathetic, 
Arousing  the  good  in  our  hearts  sympathetic. 
Chlorice  was  a  woman  by  now — all  these  years 
Had  added  new  charm  to  her  manner  by  tears ; 
She  graciously  bowed,  and  then  taking  her  seat 
She  sat,  and  the  vision  itself  seemed  complete, 
But  oh!  when  the  sweet  strains  of  music  were 

heard, 
Each  strain  found  response  in  the  hearts  it  had 

stirred, 

As  if  it  had  sought  to  uncover  some  aching 
Withheld  in  their  hearts,  till  their  hearts  were 

nigh  breaking. 

Her  eyes  had  a  dreamy,  a  lulling  expression, 
Disclosing  a  feeling  of  heartfelt  depression, 
As  if  in  her  heart  lay  the  script  she  were  play- 
ing* 
Revealed  through  her  eyes  to  her  hands — soul 

displaying. 
Each  number  she  played  held  her  listeners  in 

thrall, 

Their  moods  changed  with  hers — she  seemed  to 
install 


CftilD  of  Lotie 


Throughout  the  vast  audience,  a  circuit  of  feel- 

ing* 

Uniting  as  one  as  their  hearts  felt  it  stealing. 
And  when  she  had  finished,  a  strangely  weird 

spell 

Still    lingered   long   after   the   curtain    fell. 
Oh,  tell  me,  does  fame  ever  crush  the  wild  flame 
Of  love?  —  are  our  hearts  ever  after  the  same? 
And  Madam  Chlorice  idly  dreamed  her  dreams, 
And  the  moon  softly  sent  through  her  window 

its  beams, 
Revealing  the  heart  clasped  around  her  white 

throat, 
And  these  are  the  words  that  it  heard  its  heart 

quote, 
As  she  dreamed  —  idly  dreamed  —  "I  love  you  — 

love  you, 
And  on  until  death,  I  shall  ever  be  true." 


The  world,  the  world  over,  is  made  up  of  sec- 
tions, 

And  circumstance  casts  us,  it  dictates  direc- 
tions ; 

The  rich  build  a  wall  with  their  gold — they  must 
be 


36  a  CfrfID  of 


Exclusive,  'tis  circumstance,  not  courtesy, 
That  carries  them  on  through  the  river  of  life, 
Regardless  of  merit,  regardless  of  strife. 
The  men,  the  most  learned,  care  little  for"  store, 
They  seek  and  they  delve  and  they  wish  to  learn 

more, 
They  hunger  for  knowledge,  they  care  less  for 

station, 

For  station  is  gauged  by  our  social  relation. 
Perhaps  in  this  section,  we  might  class  the  art- 

ist, 

The  sculptor,  musician,  the  flutist,  the  harpist, 
Pianist  or  singer  —  a  talent  developed 
Lends  worldly  environment  to  all  enveloped. 
Its  spell  will  extend  to  all  stations,  its  gates 
Ope  wide  to  uplift,  where  its  spell  penetrates. 
The  section  of  indolent  —  without  any  aim, 
They  live  —  they   exist  —  what  is   theirs  to   ac- 

claim ? 

They  die  without  leaving  a  worldly  inscription, 
There  is  nothing  to  offer  the  world  as  descrip- 

tion. 
They  spring  from  the  dust,  and  to  dust  they 

decay, 
What  memory  is   left  of  them?  —  all  —  passed 

away. 

The  section  of  circumstance  —  many  expire 
Whose    temperaments    cry    for    environments 

higher  ; 


a  C&ild  of  JLoue  37 

They  struggle  resistlessly  on  to  attain 

Their    goal,   but    conditions    will   hinder    their 

gain. 

If  gold  could  be  used  to  uplift  all  deserving, 
To  rightfully  place  them  in  sections,  thus  serv- 
ing 
To    make    more    harmonious    its    system — oh, 

then, 
The  rich  would  not  be  the  most  worshiped  of 

men. 

A  vine,  growing  close  to  a  tree,  sweetly  clung 
Around   it — the  vine   and   the   tree  both  were 

young, 
And   each   grew   and  grew — the  vine  clinging 

tighter 
Each   day,    till    the   vine    almost   burst.     But 

brighter 
And  brighter  the  rays  of  the  sun  seemed  to 

shine 

To  nourish  them  both — the  tree  and  the  vine. 
At     last     the    tree     yielded,     absorbing     and 

hiding 

The  vine  in  its  bark — in  its  heart  thus  abiding. 
But  its  vines  sweetly  bloomed  o'er  the  branches 

at  will 
Throughout  the  long  summer.     Its  odor  would 

fill 

The  air  with  its  scent ;  enveloped — yet  free, 
The  sweet  honeysuckle  enclosed  in  a  tree. 


38  a  CtnlD  of  JLotoe 

The  long  dreary  winter  had  passed  and  made 
way 

For  spring.     And  the  valley !  oh  such  a  display 

Of  bloom!  Do  you  wonder  that  birds  sang  so 
sweetly 

The  while  they  were  building  their  nests,  so 
completely 

Obscuring  from  view  in  the  leaf-laden  tree, 

Their  homes.  And  the  cackling  hen  and  the 
bee 

That  buzzed  here  and  there  seemed  to  say, 
"Spring  is  here, 

Build  homes  for  your  loved  ones,  'tis  spring  of 
the  year!" 

The  valley  was  fenced  by  a  huge  wall  of  moun- 
tains, 

Their  snow-laden  peaks  to  the  valley  were  foun- 
tains 

That  flowed  to  the  creeks  in  the  canyons  to  be 

Consumed  by  the  river  that  led  to  the  sea. 

'Twas  spring  of  the  year — all  the  parties  and 
teas, 

Society  dinners  were  now  memories 

And  bygones — for  now  everything  must  begin 

Anew — for  'twas  spring! — women's  hats  were 
akin 

To  gardens  of  roses — all  thoughts  were  now 
turned 

To  Nature.     Did  ever  you  open  your  eyes 


g  CjrilD  of  Lotte 39 

And  watch  Nature's  coloring  of  earth  and  of 

skies  ? 

A  trip  to  some  canyon  to  stay  for  the  day, 
And  cook  on  a  rock  pile,  and  through  the  brush 

stray 

To  chop  down  the  driest  for  fuel — then  to  find 
A  place   to   serve  breakfast.      Spring  trips   of 

this  kind 
Were  planned.     To!  the  country,   away   from 

the  world, 

To  live  next  to  Nature,  in  beauties  unfurled, 
To  breathe  the  fresh  air  so  invigorating, 
To  list  to  the  robin  and  meadowlark  sing. 
O  Spring!  just  to  feel  your  warm  breath,  we 

assume 

New  life  like  the  trees  yearly  bursting  to  bloom ! 
The  Chadwicks  had  built  them  a  home  near  the 

creek, 

In  one  of  these  canyons,  and  never  a  week 
Would  pass   from  the  starting  of  summer  till 

fall, 

Without  it  was  filled  with  the  family,  or  all 
The  friends   of  the  family — it  never  remained 
Unoccupied.     Once  for  a  week  they  invited 
As   guests    a   few   friends.     Everyone   was   de- 
lighted 

To  go.     Oh !  such  pleasure  to  linger  and  rest 
Midst  mountains   and   shrubbery !     The   Chad- 
wicks  possessed 


40  g  CfrilD  of 


Vast  acres  of  land  which  were  fenced  in  and 

hidden 

From  others,  all  trespassers  strictly  forbidden. 
Their  house  stood  on  stilts  to  protect  it  each 

year 
From  floods.     Oh,  how  soothing  and  lulling  to 

hear 

The  stream  as  it  passed,  never  ceasing  its  song 
Since  first  it  began  its  sweet  lullaby  long! 
The  bed-rooms  consisted  of  five,  each  containing 
A  bed,  sometimes  two,  built  secure;  space  re- 

maining 
Was  furnished  with  tables  and  chairs,  roughly 

made 
Of  boxes.     On  walls  there  were  pictures  dis- 

played 

From  some  magazine  ;  then  the  rafters  o'erhead 
Were  used  to  hang  clothing  —  perhaps  o'er  some 

bed 

A  gun  in  its  case  lent  a  crude  decoration, 
Awaiting  to  go  for  a  hunt's  recreation. 
The  landing  which  led  from  the  stairs  from  be- 

low 
Wasi  used  for  a  store-room  for  trunks  —  there  a 

row 
Of  shelves  built  for  bedding  was  stationed.     At 

night 
An  old-fashioned  lantern  was  used  to  give  light. 


CfrilD  of  Lotie 


Down   stairs   was   the   dining-room,  —  off   in   a 

corner 

Was  built  a  board  couch  ;  some  artistic  adorn  er 
Had  finished  the  work  left  to  him  by  just  adding 
A  cover  —  excelsior  furnished  a  padding. 
Here  numerous  pillows  lent  comfort  and  ease 
For  loungers  who  lounged  at  their  will.     A  cool 

breeze 
Gained  entrance  from  wide-open  windows  and 

doors, 

And  danced  unpolluted  o'er  uncovered  floors. 
A  table  extended  the  length  of  the  room, 
Surrounded  by  benches  —  a  cupboard,  a  broom, 
A  rough  cobble  grate  and  a  chair,  here  and 

there, 
Completed   this    room.     Then   the   kitchen,  —  a 

chair, 

A  table,  a  range  and  a  sink  —  well  in  fact, 
There  was  nothing  for  comfort  and  ease  that  it 

lacked  ; 

A  porch  at  the  back  leading  down  to  the  stream, 
To  camp-chairs  and  hammocks  where  some  little 

beam 
Of  sunshine  peeped  through  where  the  willows 

permitted, 
And  playfully  teased  where  its  gleams  were  ad- 

mitted. 
Would  ever  a  desert  be  barren  if  we 


42 a  CfrfID  of  Lotie 

Could   gaze  on  its   waste  and  some  real  dear 

friend  see? 

Far  better  a  desert  with  dear  friends  around, 
Than  be  in  a  garden,  if  friends  were  not  found. 
And  oh !  such  a  party  of  friends !  Mrs.  Dwight 
Seemed  mother  to  all:  many  homes  were  made 

bright 
By    her, — yet    her    name    was    withheld.     She 

would  give 

The  needy — in  giving  that  others  might  live. 
To  recount  all  the  blessings  that  money  bestows, 
If  placed  in  a  loom  woven  there  as  it  grows, 
Would  burst  in  our  hearts  a  desire  to  relieve, 
As  we  watched  the  good  deeds  held  with  gold,  in 

the  weave. 

'Twas  June — as  they  all  sat  around  the  camp 
fire, 

Each  one  was  to  tell  of  his  greatest  desire; 

Beginning  with  Katherine,  she  said:  "Let  me 
keep 

The  blessings  I  have — let  me  profit  and  reap 

The  good  from  their  harvest — I  ask  for  no 
more." 

"My  wife  has  expressed  my  own  feelings,  there- 
fore 

As  hostess  and  host,  our  desires  are  the  same," 

Said  Chadwick — as  gently  he  kissed  her.  The 
flame 


CjbtlD  of  Lotte  43 


Was  losing  its  warmth  and  its  brilliancy,  too, 
For  need  of  more  fuel  —  "Wait  one  moment,  De 

Clue, 
This  wood  is  much  drier  —  there,  now  —  speak  in 

turn, 
La  Marge,  it  is  you  —  while  we  watch  the  fire 

burn." 

"Desire  often  leads  us  to  regions  unknown, 
Except  to  ourselves,  like  the  seed  that  has  blown 
Away  from  the  flower  that  withered  and  died 
To  give  it  existence.     How  often  we've  tried 
To    smother    desire    that    found   birth    in    our 

hearts, 

But  found  it  quite  useless  ;  whenever  it  starts, 
It  patiently  lingers  —  awaiting  a  chance 
To  mix  with  the  soil."     With  a   smile  and  a 

glance 

At  Chatalaine  Hall,  now  his  own  dear  wife, 
He  moved  and  sat  down  just  beside  her,  "My 

life!" 
He    whispered,    and    for    a    few    moments    in 

thought, 

They    all    seemed    to    drift  —  watching    flames. 

"  'Tis  my  lot, 

My  turn  now  I  believe  —  to  try  to  express 
My  greatest  desire  —  I'm  confused,  I  confess  ; 
Had  I  spoken  at  first,  it  might  have  been  this, 
'A    bachelor's    den    would    contain    Bateman's 

bliss, 


44  a  CfjilD  of  Hofce 

An   old-fashioned  pipe    and  a   loose   smoking- 

jacket, 

With  no  one  around  to  create  a  fierce  racket;' 
But  now  I  can  picture  what's  better — a  wife, 
In  place  of  that  pipe  and  my  bachelor  life." 
"You're  right,"  shouted  Chadwick,  "no  joy  is 

complete 
Without  a  sweet  helpmate ;"  then  moving  the 

seat 

Away  from  the  fire,  each  one  sat  down  again, 
To  learn  more  about  the  young  bachelor's  den. 
"I  fear  you  might  ridicule,  if  I  should  state, 
That   often  desires   come  to   one,  when   cruel 

Fate  i 

Prevents     their     attainment.     My     last     trip 

abroad, 

I  listened  to  music;  an  angel  of  God, 
I  believed  her  to  be,  so  divinely  she  played. 
She  lifted  the  veil  from  my  soul,  and  I  prayed 
For  one  long  eternity,  hearing  such  song! 
But,  oh,  such  eternities  never  are  long. 
Since  then  I  have  cherished  a  higher  ideal, 
Have  hungered  for  something  that  song  made 

me  feel. 

But,  pardon  me,  friends — let  me  add  to  the  fire 
Some  brush,  while  we  list  to  the  next  one's  de- 
sire." 
"Now  what  could  one  wish  for,"  said  Mrs.  De 

Clue, 


ClrilD  of  Lotie  45 


Who  sat  next  to  Bateman  —  "What  else  could 

one  do, 
But  wish  to  behold  this  fair  creature  —  reveal- 

ing 

A  glimpse  into  heaven,  to  waken  one's  feeling  — 
My  greatest  desire,  just  at  present,  is  this. 
But  may  we  not  ask  you  the  name  of  this  Miss  ? 
'Twill    help    to    subdue    this    desire   you    have 

stirred, 

By  knowing  the  name  of  this  artist  you  heard." 
"  'Twas  'Madame  Chlorice'  —  she  is  billed  to  ap- 

pear 

The  last  day  of  June  —  the  time  is  quite  near; 
The  event  will  exceed  every  anticipation. 
The  pleasure  is  mine,  if  my  solicitation 
Prevails,  and  we  go  in  a  party.     Allow 
Me  first  to  invite  everyone  —  so  now 
I  await  you  to  say,  'We  will  all  go  to  hear 
This  "Madame  Chlorice."  '  " 

"Frank  Bateman  !  I  fear 
Your  bachelor  heart  has  been  pierced  through 

and  through 

By  one  who  is  'Madam,'  "  said  Mrs.  De  Clue. 
"Now,  Mary,"  said  Katherine,  "don't  judge  too 

severely, 
You  know  that   a   bachelor's  heart  is  pierced 

yearly, 
So  what  need  it  matter,  though  'Madam'  or 

'Miss,' 


46  a  CiJilD  of 


Each  dart  with  its  sting  must  administer  bliss  : 
However,  we  thank  you,  and  all  hope  to  go." 
They  all  moved  away  from  the  fire  burning  low, 
And  went  to  the  house  near  the  creek  to  retire, 
Without  hearing  everyone's  greatest  desire. 
But  a  fire  that  had  smoldered  for  years  had 

been  stirred, 

And  many  a  sigh  in  that  heart  the  night  heard. 
"Ah!  what  is  the  use  of  it  all?"  was  his  sigh; 
"I  cry  for  you,  only  to  hear  back  my  cry  ; 
I  watch  for  you  only  to  watch  on  in  vain  ; 
'Tis  maddening!  —  my  soul  and  my  heart,  glad- 

ness feign. 

To  look!  just  to  gaze  upon  what  I  desire! 
To  hear!  —  just  to  list  —  oh!  my  soul  is  afire! 
I   know   this,   that   somewhere   in   this    mighty 

world, 

That  song  by  some  singer  is  being  unfurled  ; 
'Tis  caught  by  my  heart  in  its  innermost  feel- 

ing, 

And  held  in  its  depths  —  its  vibrations  appealing 
For  love  —  yet  I  hopelessly  try  to  resist, 
Crying  the  while  for  these  waves  to  desist." 
As  strings  of  a  lyre  when  in  motion  start 
The  strings  that  the  waves  of  vibration  impart, 
So  hearts  seek  their  harmony  from  one  another, 
And    nothing    can    silence    the    heart-wave    or 

smother 

The  beautiful,  heavenly,  mystic  lay, 
That  sings  from  one  heart  to  the  other's  play. 


Cfn'lD  of  Lotoe  47 


XI 

Did  ever  you  gaze  far  away  into  space, 
And  ever  before  you  see  one  fleeting  face ; 
Gaze  down  in  the  depths  of  a  sweet-blooming 

flower, 
And  find  something  missing  that  charms  by  its 

power? 

Did  ever  the  perfume  that  scented  the  air, 
From  some  fragrant  blossom,  with  its  beauty 

rare, 
Leave   wanting   in    something   this    craving   to 

calm, 

This  longing  be  unappeased — e'en  by  a  psalm? 
Did  ever,  when  gazing  at  some  lofty  peak, 
Or  while  through  some  canyon,  your  restless 

heart  seek 
A    something    from    something   to    make    more 

complete, 
This  something  that's  wanting  in  every  heart's 

beat? 

Did  ever  the  wind  of  your  loneliness  wail? — 
Did  ever  the  sun  try  to  cheer  you  and  fail? — 
To    shine   when    its    sunshine   brings    roses    to 

bloom, 
And  e'en   then   its   brightness  be  shadowed  by 

gloom  ? 
Oh !  what  do  we  miss  that  is  wanting  in  all, 


48  a  CfrilD  of 


It's  love  —  naught  but  love  can  this  beauty  in- 

stall; 
It's    love    that   makes    clover    as    rich   as    the 

rose, 

And  gives  to  the  earth  all  their  beauty  bestows. 
A  home  is  a  home  if  a  heart  therein  dwells, 
The  story  of  love,  its  walls  hear  as  one  tells 
One's  love  for  the  other,  each  day  to  repeat 
This  story  that  never  seems  quite  complete. 
The  flowers  woo  —  if  this  love  exists, 
All  nature  coos  —  there  is  nothing  resists, 
The  eyes  see  this  love  e'en  in  sadness  and  grief, 
And  cling  to  this  love,  for  in  it  there's  relief; 
But  what  of  the  home  where  the  heart  is  alone, 
Alone  —  yet  surrounded  by  many  —  grief  grown 
Within  it  —  how  hard  we  find  it  to  deceive 
Our  hearts  —  though  in  trying  we  try  to  relieve. 
We  laugh  —  we  assume  —  hide  our  tears  with  a 

smile, 
E'en  though  our  hearts  burst  and  are  breaking 

the  while  ; 

We  watch  our  lives  pass  swiftly  slipping  away, 
It  makes  us  cherish  them  more  day  by  day. 
As  days  grow  to  months  and  the  months  grow 

to  years, 

We  see  our  lives  wasting  in  sorrow  and  tears  ; 
We  look  for  a  future  to  bring  to  us  hope, 
Our  hearts,  for  their  love,  we  see  them  wildly 

grope, 


3  CirilD  of  Lotie 49 

We  watch  for  the  love  that  responds  with  a 

thrill, 

But  still  this  same  love  we  must  kill,  slowly  kill. 
Though  joys  upon  joys  are  bestowed  without 

measure, 
There's  something  within  seems  bereft  of  the 

pleasure ; 

We  laugh — and  the  echo  resounds  back  a  sigh- 
ing 
Of  something  that  laughs — at  the  same  time  is 

dying. 

Each  day  brings  an  outline  of  destiny  ours, 
Each  year  brings  the  grass  and  the  fruit  and 

the  flowers, 
And   some   Unknown    Power,    so    mighty    and 

great, 

Guards  over  us  all  in  our  earthly  state. 
There  is  something  instills  in  our  bosoms  their 

longing, 
There  is  something  that  makes  us  resent  our 

heart's  wronging, 
There  is  something  within  us  that  answers  the 

call 

Of  something  that's  calling — oh,  what  is  it  all? 
Did  ever  a  rose  from  the  hollyhock  grow? 
No,  no,  our  Creator  did  not  will  it  so, 
And  oh !  when  we  yield  to  this  calling,  oh,  then, 
No  outline  shall  sever  the  heaven  from  men! 
The  height  of  the  rose-bud  is  never  known, 


so  a  CfrilD  of 


Until  it  unfolds  to  the  rose  full-blown  ; 
The  sunflower's  heaven  is  never  gained, 
Until  its  first  glimpse  of  the  sun  is  attained. 
Was  ever  a  flower  denied  its  unfolding? 
Was  ever  it  crushed  from  its  heaven  beholding? 
But  buds  never  burst  to  their  height  in  a  day, 
Or  roots  never  fasten  to  earth's  fertile  clay 
To  gain,  as  they  spread,  yearly  strengthening 

their  clutch, 

Protection  the  while,  from  some  harmful  touch  ; 
But  slowly  and  slowly  the  pendulum  swings, 
That    measures    the    progress    of   Time   to    all 

things, 

And  the  strength  of  the  roots  are  never  revealed 
To  us  —  under  ground  they  are  ever  concealed. 

'Twas   August.     Away   from  the   city's   great 

heat, 

Surrounded  and  hidden  by  trees,  in  retreat 
From  noise  and  commotion,  the  summer  house 

stood, 

Of  Doctor  and  Mrs.  De  Clue,  called  Kenwood. 
Secluded  from  others,  its  beautiful  grounds 
Were    parks    in    themselves,    and    the    doctor's 

greyhounds 
Seemed  part  of  the  beauty,  and  Sam,  who  had 

been 
With  Doctor  De   Clue   since  young  manhood, 

was  seen 


g  CfrilD  of  Lotie 5i 

To   care   for  the  lawn  and  the  hedge  and  the 

flowers ; 

His  touch  was  like  magic — numerous  bowers 
Were  found  by  the  searching,  that  otherwise 

slipped 

The  eyes  of  observers.     He  constantly  clipped 
The   hedge   that   surrounded   the   gardens,   ob- 
scuring 

From  all  passers-by  any  view,  thus  securing 
Exclusiveness.      Sam  alone  knew  every  nook 
And  corner;  a  guest  with  an  interesting  book 
Was  found  very  often  by  him,  seeking  rest, 
Absorbed,  undisturbed,  in  a  rose-garden  nest. 
Aunt  Manda  was  equally  proud  of  the  care 
She  gave  to  the  house;  her  contributed  share 
Was  just  as  essential  to  beauty.     To  tend 
The   airy-like  rooms   so   their  grandeur  might 

blend 
With   flower-beds   outside.     There   was   always 

a  guest 

Of  Doctor  and  Mrs.  De  Clue's  seeking  rest, 
And  Manda  was  always  most  willing  to  cater 
To  everyone's  whim,  providing  not  later 
Than  nine  in  the  evening,  for  then  she  retired, 
And  nothing  could  bribe  her  to  stay.      She  de- 
sired 

A  uniform  way  to  perform  every  task, 
And  method  to  her  was  her  all,  and  to  ask 
A  change  in  the  routine  of  daily  affairs, 


The  sweeping  and  dusting  of  winding-stairs, 
The   washing    and    ironing   and    mending   and 

baking 

And   scouring    and   scrubbing   and   daily   bed- 
making, 

Meant  more  to  Aunt  Manda  than  all  the  en- 
joyment 

That  could  have  been  given  her  past  this  em- 
ployment. 
Her  room  in  the  attic,  though  hard  polished 

wood, 

Was  covered  from  corner  to  corner  with  good, 
Fine  old-fashioned  carpet,  she  sewed  from  old 

rags, 
And  then  had  it   woven   in   stripes — here  old 

Tags 

Curled  up  in  the  corner  to  sleep  every  night 
And   purred   there   incessantly   till   the   bright 

light 
Was  turned  down  quite  low,  for  Aunt  Manda 

was  lost 

Without  a  small  lamp  in  her  room,  for  the  cost 
Of  light  she  considered  extravagant — burning, 
When  one  tiny  lamp  did  as  well.     All  learning 
Derived  from  perusal  of  books  after  dark, 
To  her  was  mere  wasting  of  means. 

The  park 
Looked  brighter  that  year  than  ever  before 


CfrilD  of  ILotie  63 


To    Doctor    De    Clue.     Were    there    blossoms 

more 
That  year  that  crept  heavenward  —  or  did  his 

heart 

Soar  higher  than  all?     Did  the  violets  impart 
To   him  this    awakening  —  what   thing  met  his 

gaze, 

That  passed  on  unnoticed  by  him,  bygone  days. 
'Twas  he  alone  knew  why  the  earthly  array 
Seemed  brighter,  and  wrought  from  his  breast 

the  long  day, 

From  out  the  remotest  recesses  ideals 
That  flowed  on  incessantly.     'Tis  love  reveals 
The  light  of  the  world  to  us  all,  or  conceals 
From  us,  if  denied  us,  the  mightiest  gift 
Of  life,  to  make  all  things  to  heaven  uplift. 

In   a  sunny   east   room  with  its   walls   tinted 

blue, 
With  airy-like  windows,  where  sunlight  slipped 

through, 

And  soft,  dainty  draperies  that  soothingly  lent 
Intrusion  at  will  of  the  rose-wafted  scent, 
Lay  Madam  Chlorice.     She  had  been  very  ill 
Of  nervous  prostration  ;  in  fact,  not  until 
Her  recent  removal  to  Kenwood  had  she 
Shown  signs  of  improvement.     Quite  necessary 
Was  absolute  quiet,  nowhere  to  be  found 


54 a  CirilD  of  Lotie 

Except   at   some    far    distant   home,    far    from 

sound, 

From  daily  routine  of  the  city's  great  throng, 
Where   clatter   and   noise   is   the   busy   world's 

song. 

For  days  she  had  lingered  'twixt  life  and  death, 
In  state  of  exhaustion ;  her  fevered  breath 
Bespoke  her  condition  quite  grave.      She  alone 
Was  wholly  unconscious   of  kindnesses   shown. 
The  days  of  her  illness  were  plucked  from  her 

mind, 

Condensed  to  one  night — and  waking  to  find 
The  morn's  early  sun  just  beginning  to  rise 
To  waken  the  earth  to  its  worshipful  cries, 
As  with  the  first  breaking  of  night  to  the  dawn, 
A  mist  seemed  to  linger  till  night  was  all  gone ; 
She  heard  voices  round  her,  but  failed  to  dis- 

distinguish 

Their  meaning,  till  Nighttime  saw  fit  to  relin- 
quish 
Its  throne;  then  a  veil  o'er  her  eyes  seemed  to 

creep 
To  hide  the  first  glimpse  of  the  sun's  brilliant 

peep, 
That  makes  all  things  black  when  our  eyes  look 

away; 
E'en  when  our   eyes   close,  the   reflection   will 

stay. 


3  CfrfID  of  Lotie 55 

And    when    she    recovered    her    consciousness, 

then — 
She   thought   she   had   lapsed   to  her   sleeping 

again, 

And  dreamed  she  had  entered  a  fairyland  den, 
Midst  strangers  by  name,  yet  not  strangers  by 

deeds ; 

They  all  were  good  angels  relieving  her  needs. 
All   strangers   but   one,  and  the  power   of  his 

gaze 
Waked  Love  from  its  slumber  to  dance  in  its 

rays; 

Blindfolded  her  eyes  with  her  eyelids  and  then, 
Though  blindfolded,  see  the  reflection  again 
Rise   out   from   her   soul   like   a   fountain   that 

springs 
From   mountains   and   flows   on   for  ages    and 

sings, 

Its  waters  exhaustlessly  flowing  the  while, 
Since  first  it  burst  forth  from  its  source;  and 

his  smile 
Was  wine  that  had  crept  to  her  veins,  madly 

rushing 

To  leap  to  her  lips,  to  her  cheek  it  was  blush- 
ing; 

And  swifter  and  swifter  it  wended  its  way, 
Leaping  from  here  and  from  there  in  its  play, 
And  madly  coursing  till  wine-drops  burned, 


56  3  ClrilD  of 


To  be  in  her  lips  when  the  smile  she  returned. 
"Now,  Manda,  take  care  of  Chlorice,  when  I 

g°» 

For  Mary  and  Katherine  and  I  wish  it  so," 
Said  Mrs.  John  Dwight,  as  they  stepped  in  a 

cab 

That  Sam  had  in  readiness.  Brixon  and  Tab 
Shone  brighter  than  ever  that  morning,  and 

pranced, 

Awaiting  the  signal  from  Sam  as  they  danced, 
To  carry  their  passengers  down  to  the  station. 
All  three  journeyed  West  on  their  yearly  vaca- 

tion. 
The  gate  at  the  entrance  clicked  back  as  they 

left, 

And  loneliness  reigned  for  a  moment.  Bereft 
Of  Sam  and  the  horses,  Aunt  Manda  was 

lonely, 
And  Tags  seemed  to  be  her  sole  comfort,  if 

only 
She  mewed   for   admittance   and  leaped   to    a 

chair, 
Her  presence   meant  much  as    she   calmly  sat 

there  ; 

For  Manda  felt  timid  to  be  there  alone, 
With  Doctor  and  Sam  and  the  "Missis"  all 

gone; 
She  softly  crept  up  to  the  bedroom  and  said, 


a  CjrilD  of  &otie 57 

"I'm  willin'  to  do  what  I  kin,"  as  she  spread 
The   covers    more    smoothly   and    straightened 

the  while, 
The   shades    so   that   each  was   the   same.     A 

smile, 

A  nod,  with  a  "Thank  you,"  like  magic  erased 
The  fear  from  Aunt  Manda,  as  she  stood  and 

faced 
Chlorice.     "And  I'm  sure  I'd  be  pleased  to," 

said  she, 

"Whatever  ye  want  ye  kin  jist  call  on  me." 
"I  thank  you,  Aunt  Manda ;  I'll  try  not  impose 
Upon  you ;"  and  women  of  culture  are  those 
Who  recognize  everyone's  rights — bear  in  mind 
Their  welfare,  and  willing  to  help  all  mankind. 
Remember,  that  gems  in  their  unpolished  state, 
Unpolished  on  surface  have  hearts  innate, 
And  many  a  gem  is  cast  on  the  tide, 
Through  failure  to  see  to  its  innermost  side. 
And  Manda  wished  she  could  always  have  care 
Of  Madam  Chlorice — just  her  presence  there 
Enlightened  her  heart  and  the  house  and  the 

room, 
And  she  feared,  ah !  too  quickly  the  flame  would 

consume 
The   oil — then    a   darkness,   a   longing   would 

follow, 
Making  her  heart  and  all  Kenwood  feel  hollow. 


58  a  CftilD  of  JLotie 

And  just  in  an  instant,  no  longer  it  seemed 
To  Manda,  and  Sam  had  returned.     His  face 

beamed, 

As  proudly  he  drove  the  high-spirited  team ; 
The   care   of  these   horses    was    Sam's    highest 

dream. 
'Twas  noon  by  the  time  he  had  fed  them  their 

grain 

And  put  on  their  blankets,  rebr aiding  the  mane 
And   tail    of   black   Brixon,   when    Manda   an- 
nounced 

That  luncheon  was  ready,   and  Manda's  pro- 
nounced, 

Methodical  ways  were  well  known,  so  he  knew 
That   Tab's   mane   and   tail   must  hang  loose. 

The  cat's  mew 
Brought  milk  to  her  dish  in  the  corner.     For 

work 

Was  better  to  measure  than  do  with  a  jerk: 
A  method  resembled  the  spring  of  a  clock, 
To  Manda  a  thing  beneficial  to  mock. 
At   four  she  prepared   for  Chlorice   some  hot 

tea; 
"No     new-fangled    way     for    Aunt    Manda," 

thought    she, 
"Though  August — who   wants   in  their  tea   a 

sour  slice 

Of  lemon  to  mingle  with  pieces  of  ice?" 
"I  left  a  few  leaves  in  yer  cup  so  I  kin 
Amuse  ye  by  tellin'  ye  what  hasn't  been, 


Ctrild  of  Lone  59 


So  turn  yer  cup  over  and  turn  it  around 
And  wish,  and  I'll  see  what  there  is  to  be  found, 
But    don't    let    me    know    what    yer    wishin'." 

Chlorice 
Half  closed  her  blue   eyes   as   she  wished   for 

peace 

Of  mind  —  that  no  matter  how  thorny  the  path, 
She  might  find  reward  in  the  aftermath. 
Then  Manda  began  after  much  hesitation, 
"Yer  goin'  to  hear  from  a  distant  relation, 
He's  goin'  to  write  ye  a  letter  and  tell 
Ye   somethin'    ye'll    hear    long   before.  —  Well! 

Well! 

I  see  ye  as  plain  in  a  flower-bed  —  look  here, 
Yer  right  in  the  center  —  that's  good  luck,  my 

dear; 
Somebody    has    placed    on    yer    head    a    sweet 

wreath, 

And  made  all  around  ye  a  rose-bed  beneath. 
But  ye  don't  seem  to  know  it  is  there  —  that 

is  strange  — 

I  see  lots  of  tears  for  awhile,  but  a  change 
Will  come  for  the  best,  for  see  here  —  I  can  see 
Ye  sleepin'  —  and   smiles  where  the  tears  used 

to  be. 

That's  all  I  kin  see  there  to-day,  but  I'll  tell 
Ye  somethin'  to-morrow,  if  everything's  well, 
But  now  I  must  go—  try  to  sleep  if  ye  kin," 
And  Manda's  face  beamed  from  her  kind  heart 

within. 


60  a  Cfn'in  of 


XII 

"The  sun  is  always  shining, 

If  we  are  in  its,  rays ; 
It  knows  no  touch  of  darkness, 

No  night-divided  days. 

"We  see  it  rise  so  brightly, 

And  watch  its  daily  flight; 
It's  always  bringing  morning, 

Or  somewhere  leaving  night. 

"Ah!  could  our  spirit  flitter 

Before  its  magic  blaze, 
To  greet  the  dawning  brightness 
It  throws  to  meet  our  gaze! 

"Though  mountain  peaks  might  hide  it, 
That  stand  against  the  sky, 

The  blazing  light  behind  them 
Will  tell  its  presence  nigh. 

"Though  heaven  with  clouds  is  laden, 

It  tints  them  with  its  fire, 
Until  they  melt  before  it, 

Like  night  as  dawn  creeps  higher." 


a  CfrilE  of  ilotte 6i 

The  doctor  he  listened  when  first  he  awoke; 
He   thought   earth   to  heaven   and  heaven   to 

earth  spoke, 

And  following  closer  its  source,  he  discovered 
The  sweet  waves  of  song  from  the  garden  un- 
covered : 
Chlorice,  seeking  strength  from  the  morning's 

light  shower, 

And  singing  an  ode  to  the  sun,  in  a  bower 
Of  roses  that  blended  their  perfume  to  float 
To  heaven  with  the  song,  as  it  left  her  white 

throat. 
Then   noiselessly   dressing,   he   slipped   to  her 

side, 

Before  the  song's  echo  to  heaven  had  died, 
And  the  glory  of  the  morning  had  no  charm  for 

him  there, 

Above  the  loose  waves  of  her  golden  hair; 
No  blue  shone  to  earth  from  the  heavenly  skies, 
Unless  it  reflected  to  him  through  her  eyes, 
And  the  pink  from  her  cheek  caught  a  rose- 
tinted  flame, 

That  seemed  to  reflect  to  the  roses  their  claim. 
He    clasped    her — a    kiss    on    her    lips    madly 

pressed, 

And  neither  could  speak  in  this  stolen  caress ; 
The  look  in  his  eyes  cast  a  hypnotic  spell, 
That  fastened  the  lips  and  the  eyes  as  well. 


62  a  CfjtlD  of 


And  their  veins   seemed  united,  when   all  the 

strength  left 
Her      weakened  —  him      strengthened  —  to     him 

when  it  crept, 

And,  leaving  bereft  of  her  power  to  resist, 
It  made  him  more  helpless  than  her  to  desist. 
His   breath   burnt   to   crimson   her  pink-tinted 

cheek  ; 

All  blood  in  her  body,  her  face  seemed  to  seek  ; 
She  staggered  —  her  eyes  lost  their  power  to  see, 
So  thrilled  —  overpowered  by  love's  wild  ecstasy. 
Her  breath  slipped  away  from  her  —  then  a  mad 

fear 

Leaped  into  her  heart,  as  he  held  her  so  near, 
And  with  a  mad  struggle,  his  arms  from  her 

brushed, 

Then  crying  hysterically  —  back  to  them  rushed, 
To  seek  their  protection  —  his  arms  that  could 

shield, 

Though  beg  her  the  while  to  their  wooing  yield. 
"No,  no,"  she  convulsively  cried,  and  he 

smoothed 
Her    loose-fallen    hair,    while    he    petted    and 

soothed 
And  nestled  her  closer  —  had  streams  crept  so 

near, 

Their  passionate  waters,  all  heedless  of  fear, 
Would  have  rushed  to  each  other,  uniting  as 

one, 


Cfn'lD  of  Lotoe 


Forever,  as  when  their  sweet  union  begun ; 
E'en  though  in  their  course  they  should  branch 

off  again, 
Each   stream  the  sweet  waters   of  both  would 

contain. 
He   said,   "There — my   sweetheart — don't   fear 

me,  Chlorice; 

You're  mine — all  mine — I  shall  never  release 
My  arms  that  enfold  you  to  me,  my  own; 
You're  mine,  as  the  soil  claims  the  seed  to  it 

blown; 

From  now*  and  forever,  in  body  or  mind, 
My  arms  will  caress  you,  forever  to  bind 
Your  soul  unto  mine,  to  my  soul  never  lost ; 
I  vow  with  these  kisses,  regardless  of  cost, 
To  love  you — to  have  you — all  mine,  all  mine !" 
"I  must  go — see !  Aunt  Manda — she  stands  at 

the  gate; 
'Tis  breakfast  time,  come — we  must  not  make 

her  wait ; 

She  fails  to  behold  us ;  this  garden  bower 
Protects  us  from  view  with  its  vines  and  flower. 
Oh,  see! — e'en  the  streams  from  the  morning 

sun 

Fail  to  reveal  to  its  eyes  anyone." 
"Sweetheart,  the  vines  and  the  flowers  are  blest, 
Having  my  angel  seek  them  for  rest; 
When  you   are  within  there's   a  greater  light 

shines 


64  a  CMS  of 


From  under  the  bower  than  above  its  vines. 
Ah!  were  I  a  sunflower  —  I  fear  this, 
I'd  turn  to  your  eyes  from  the  sun  for  bliss. 
Ah!  were  I  the  ocean  or  great  universe, 
The  mighty  or  good  or  everything  worse, 
The  little  molehill  or  the  mighty  peak, 
Whatever  there  is  —  the  strong  or  the  weak, 
Ah!   were   I   their   king  —  I  would   forfeit  my 

power 

To  sit  by  your  side  in  this  rose-covered  bower." 
And  they  wound  their  way  through  the  winding 

walks, 
Where  the  sweet  flowers  smiled  —  their  support- 

ing stalks, 

Indulging  their  buds  to  respond  with  a  nod, 
To  greet  the  first  rays  of  their  life-giving  God. 

The  glory  of  dawn  only  ushers  in  noon, 
And  then  on  to  eventide,  ah  !  all  too  soon, 
But  only  to  take  the  sweet  sunshine  away, 
That  we  might  behold  it  again  the  next  day. 
The  blossoms  of  nature  are  beaten  to  earth, 
Their    short-lived    existence    is    measured    by 

worth, 
They  herald  the  oncoming  fruit  —  then  they're 

gone; 

And  then  comes  the  rainfall  to  nourish  it  on. 
There's  never  a  joy  springs  to  life,  but  first, 
A  blossom  announces  its  heavenly  burst  ; 


CfrilD  of  Lotie  65 


There's  never  a  growing  to  future  gain, 
Unless  it  is  nourished  by  tears  for  rain, 
And  to  feel  the  height  of  a  full-blown  rose 
Is  all  that  heaven  to  earth  bestows; 
And  too  much  dark  or  too  much  light 
Will  rob  us  of  our  priceless  sight. 

And  the   morning   to  noon   and   to   afternoon 

crept  ; 

Chlorice  in  her  solitude  bitterly  wept  ; 
She   walked  on  the  threshold   of  heaven,   and 

then 

Met  failure  to  enter  —  was  snatched  back  again. 
She  lived  the  kiss  over  each  hour  in  the  day  ; 
She  felt  his  warm  breath  on  her  cheek  the  while 

stay, 

And  the  hours  dividing  seemed  ages  compared 
To  the  hour  by  his  side,  while  his  love  she  had 

shared. 
And  the  joy  of  the  present  was  dimmed  by  the 

thought 
That  bars  stood  between  her  and  heaven  she 

sought, 

Allowing  a  view  in  the  space  there  between; 
Far  better  all  bars  than  the  space  to  be  seen, 
For  through  it  the  heavenly  love  was  reflected, 
And  thrown  to  her  heart,  but  its  touch  was  re- 

jected. j 

And  as  the  sweet  musk  sends  an  odor  —  oh,  then, 


66  a  CfrflD  of 


His  presence  remained  till  his  coming  again. 
'Twas  night  —  when  the  blinds  of  the  homes  are 

all  drawn, 
When    Nature     is     garbed    by    the     darkness 

brought  on, 

That  all  might  seek  shelter,  retracing  the  track 
They  trod  through  the  day  like  a  ball  bounding 

back. 
To  the  fire  in   the  grate  when  the  evening  is 

chill, 

Surrounded  by  loved  ones  —  if  this  fails  to  fill 
Our    hearts    with    contentment  —  there's    some- 

thing we  miss  — 

Our  hearts  ever  searching  to  bring  it  to  this. 
There's  never  a  pleasure  unless  we  must  share 
The  pleasure  with  loved  ones,  we're  one  of  a 

pair; 
There's    never    a    thing   in    itself    made    com- 

plete- 

To  give  and  receive  and  to  equally  mete 
Is  finding  the  key  to  our  innermost  selves, 
That    measures   us   joy   from   God's   joy-laden 

shelves. 
'Twas  night  —  night  at  Kenwood;   the  mighty 

world  shrank 
To    two  —  then    was    mighty  —  all    else    left    a 

blank  ; 
They  envied  the  hours  as  the}'  slipped  by  them, 

then, 


3  Cirild  of  Lotte 67 

Wished  they  could  live  them  all  over  again. 
Each  kiss  left  an  ethereal,  newly-born  feeling, 
That  bounded  from  one  to  the  other  stealing; 
They  tried  to  discover  the  innermost  source, 
That  yielded  the  kisses  to  them  in  their  course, 
But  failed  to  unfathom  their  endless  supply, 
For  one  leaped  to  birth  in  the  last  one's  death 

sigh. 

Each  kiss  soared  to  heaven  like  an  angel's  face, 
That   lighted  the  heaven   through  its   endless 

space ;  \ 

They  flowed  like  a  circle,  whose  retracing  pen 
Ne'er  knows  where  to  stop  or  begin  again. 
And    each    good-night    kiss    seemed   unfinished, 

although 

Each  one  knew  that  kisses  could  never  bestow 
To  them  one  more  thrill — there  was  nothing 

they  missed, 
But  something  they  longed  for  to  find  as  they 

kissed. 

"But  oh!  this  is  madness,  the  gate  stands  ajar! 
We  neither  should  enter  the  pathway  too  far; 
Chlorice,  'tis  the  love  running  riot,"  he  said, 
"That  burns  in  our  hearts ;  come,  dear,  rest 

your  sweet  head 
Close,  close  to  my  breast — come,  dear,  sit  by 

my  side; 
Let  us  dream  of  our  love  as  it  floats  down  the 

tide 


68  g  CfrilD  of  JLotoe 

Of  life :  see !  you  stand  all  in  white,  oh,  so  pure ; 
But  yonder  is  something  attempting  to  lure. 
See !  see !  now  it  beckons, — 'tis  calling  you, 

dear, 
And  now  you  are  frightened;  you  tremble  in 

fear. 

Ah!  now,  now  it  watches  your  uplifted  face; 
It  touches  with  sadness — some  lines,  leaves  no 

trace ! 
And  now, — see  how  strangely  your  smiles  melt 

away! 

A  mournfulness  hovers ;  each  line  must  obey 
Its  magical  touch.     See !  it  smiles  all  the  while 
To   eyes   that   it   tinges   with   sorrow!      Why 

smile, 

To  chisel  such  sadness,  far  deeper  than  face? 
Why  smile  to  mould  tears  that  no  smile  could 

erase? 
See!   see,   you   are   kneeling   in   prayer,   your 

head  bowed; 
Behold!  a  soft  light,  streaming  down  through 

a  cloud, 

Revealing  to  you  from  the  heavens  above, 
A  sweet  baby-face — 'tis  a  child  of  love. 
Oh !  see  how  your  hungry  arms  lift  to  the  skies ! 
See!    see!   how   its   baby-face   brightens   your 

eyes !" 

And  oh,  if  the  vision  appeared  to  her  then, 
It  shone  from  his  eyes  to  her  eyes — back  again 


69 


Like    soft    streams    of    sunshine,    whose    rays 

magnify, 
When  creeping  to  darkness  through  curtains 

pushed  by. 

Her  face  seemed  illumined;  a  heavenly  light 
Shone  out  from  her  soul  like  an  angel's  flight, 
Warming  to  birth  all  it  fell  upon, 
And  wielding  from  night  a  most  glorious  dawn. 
"Chlorice,   come,  my  sweetheart,   'tis  time  to 

retire, 

The  fire's  burning  low  in  the  grate;  my  desire 
To   linger  here   longer,   for   your   sake   must 

yield  ; 
Your  sleepy  eyes,  dear,  must  by  slumber  be 

healed. 

Sweet  dreams  to  you,  dear,  of  our  love,  divine  ! 
Oh,  God!  were  the  child  of  love,  yours   and 

mine! 
Should  God  hear   our  calling,  oh,  would  He 

condemn 
Our  hearts  that  are  starving?  or  grant  this 

boon  them." 


TO  a  CirilD  of 


XIII 

And  as  life  goes  along  in  its  e'erlasting  way, 
Their  lives  went  along  from  day  to  day  ; 
She  had  much  to  bear,  for  she  now  was  alone, 
Bereft  of  her  husband,  who  madly  was  thrown 
And  killed  from  the  horse  he  was  riding.     Her 

mother 
And   sisters   seemed   all   she   had   left,   and  no 

other 
Could    ever   replace   the    same    love    each    one 

offered 
Or    ever    unwind    the    great    love    each    one 

proffered. 

The  winter,  it  passed  in  its  dreary  way, 
And  spring  rolled  around  once  again  with  its 

lay 

Of  spring-time's  real  music,  which  never  fails 
To  sing  its  sweet  song,  as  Time  onward  sails. 
Kenwood  was  just  bursting  forth  into  bloom, 
Deserted  each  winter,  it  now  cast  the  gloom 
Away  like  the  sun  melts  the  fog  that  falls  low, 
Consuming  the  mist  by  its  gleaming  glow. 
Sam  had  been  raking  for  weeks  to  prepare 
The  gardens  for  summer  ;  and  Manda  was  there 
To  brighten  the  house  from  its  winter's  sleep, 
To  open  the  shutters  that  sunshine  might  peep, 
To  chase  out  the  shadows  of  Kenwood  it  found 
Had  crept  to  its  corners  in  absence  of  sound. 


iID  of  JLofce 


But   for  over   a  week  its  great  walls  had  re- 

sounded 
With  chatter  and  laughter,  that  danced  and  re- 

bounded 

From  attic  to  cellar.     The  long  dreary  time 
From  autumn  to  spring  made  the  summer-time 

rhyme 

Seem  greater  than  ever  —  as  forces  restrained 
Rebound  with  more  power  when  their  freedom 

is  gained. 

But  something  was  missing  to  Doctor  De  Clue  ; 
The  light   of  the   sun  never  seemed  to   shine 

through 
The  mist  of  his  heart  since  Chlorice  had  been 

there  ; 
Since  Kenwood  had  sheltered  her,  oh,   such  a 

tear 
Of   loneliness    haunted   him;    all   through    the 

day 
He  longed  for  her,  and  through  the  night  the 

same  way. 
The  whole  world  in  bloom  seemed  a  desert  com- 

pared 

To  one  barren  spot,  if  her  presence  he  shared. 
And  now  he  must  watch;  her  accouchment  was 

near, 

—  Must  sacrifice  all  to  protect  her  —  to  hear 
The  first  baby  cry  of  his  own  stirred  his  heart 
To  madness  !  —  If  only  he  could  so  impart 


72 a  CfrilD  of  Hotte 

The   sweet  words   to  her  as    she  suffered   for 

him — 
"It  is  mine! — it  is  ours! — "  no  shadow  could 

dim 
The  great  ray  of  light  that  her  soul  flashed  to 

him. 
Each   day   he   would    send   her   a   bouquet    of 

flowers ; 
It  brightened  her  heart  through  the  waiting 

hours ; 
And  often  at  night  he   would  walk  past  her 

home, 
His  heart,   so  bewildered,   sought   comfort  to 

roam, 

If  just  to  be  near  her,  and  feel  the  same  air 
He  breathed  might  have  floated  from  her  to  him 

there. 
And  he  wandered  and  wandered  in  body  and 

soul, 
Both  knowing,  yet  daring  not  seek  his  heart's 

goal. 

He  felt  the  protector  of  both — oh,  to  share 
Her  love — with  the  baby  now  under  her  care! 
He  watched  for  the  time  when  her  illness  would 

bring 
His  sweetheart  to  him — just  to  feel  one  slight 

cling 

To  him  for  protection  meant  much  to  him  then, 
If  he  could  enlighten  her  suffering. 


CfrflD  of  Lotie  73 


Men 

Are  helpful  to  women,  when  suffering  is  tense, 
When  woman's  strength  wanes,  then  man  lends 

in  defense; 

He  seems  to  withhold  until  then  a  reserve 
For  her  to  replenish  her  fast-ebbing  nerve. 
And  when  June  ushered  in  its  most  glorious 

days, 
Betwixt    and   between  —  long   before   the   sun's 

rays 

Announce  it  is  summer  —  yet  after  they  bring 
A  balmy  perfume,  that  must  follow  spring, 
Chlorice  sought  her  room  at  the  hospital,  where 
She  first  met  the  doctor,  and  now  she  was  there 
Again  in  his  care  —  yet  so  different  now; 
How  long  years  of  longing  and  wanting  will 

bow 

The  heart  to  submission  to  give  up  the  quest 
In  search  of  the  love  that  brings  hopeless  un- 

rest! 

She  lived  the  years  over  from  then  until  now  ; 
She  dreamed  of  the  time  when  he  first  stroked 

her  brow, 
And   held   her   white   hand   while   he  lovingly 

gazed 
Upon  her  flushed  face  when  her  thoughts  were 

so  dazed. 
She  dreamed  it  again,  then  a  song  she  once 

heard, 


a  Cfrilti  of  Lotie 


Leaped  up  to  her  throat,  and  the  song  to  voice 

stirred  :  — 
"His  eyes  gazed  in  mine,  and  I  feared  mine 

would  say 

To  him  all  my  thoughts  that  I  had  that  day  ; 
My  eyes  drooped  to  hide,  but  a  blush  then  arose 
And    spoke    to    him    still,    though    my    eyes 

drooped  to  close; 

My  hands  he  then  clasped  and  I  tried  to  conceal 
What  my  eyes  and  my  blush  had  begun  to  re- 

veal, 

But  my  fast-beating  pulse  continued  to  tell 
Of  the  love  I  thought  hidden  within  my  heart 

well. 

A  kiss  on  my  lips  he  then  gently  pressed, 
And  my  secret  I  held  was  then  by  him  guessed, 
And  the  silence  seemed  sweet  to  us  both  that 

day; 
'Tis  love  that  makes  heaven  on  earth  —  let  us 

say, 

And  when  there  is  love  —  all  night  turns  to  day." 
She  sang  the  song  over  and  over  again  ; 
It  seemed  to  respond  to  a  note  she  felt  then, 
And  softly  she  changed  the  sweet  tune  and  the 

key, 

And  sang  this  sweet  song  in  her  love's  reverie: 
"To  kiss  you,  ah!  should  I  this  moment  know 

this, 


ClrilO  o(  Lotte  75 


That  death  would  be  mine  for  that  last  hour  of 

bliss, 
I  would   sweetly  recline  in  your  arms'  gentle 

clasp, 
And  would  bask  in  the  death  that  held  me  in  its 

grasp  ; 
I  would  give  you  my  lips  in  that  last  hour  of 

bliss, 
To   sip  all  their  sweetness  they  held  in  their 

kiss, 
And  would  die  in  a  heaven,  though  on  earth  it 

would  be, 

That  would  pay  for  a  heaven  of  eternity." 
The  doctor  had  listened;  each  word  as  it  fell, 
Had  reached  to  his  heart.     "Is  my  sweetheart 

well?" 
He  said  as  he  sat  down  beside  her. 

"Oh,  yes, 
But  my  thoughts  wandered  far  away,  I  must 

confess, 
Retraced  the  long  path  I  have  trod  —  and  my 

song 
Leaped  up  from  the  past  —  from  the  memories 

long, 
Leaped  up  from  the  flowers  that  had  withered 

and  died, 
Their  fumes  from  the  leaves  of  their  memories 

sighed. 


76 a  Ci)ilD  or  ILotie 

And  if  any  grief  lingered,  it  lingered  beneath 

The  scent  of  the  flowers,  and  was  crowned  with 
their  wreath, 

And  my  thoughts  tried  uncover,  in  quest  of  re- 
gret, 

But  the  more  they  researched,  by  more  perfume 
were  met, 

Until  they  were  lost  in  a  heaven  of  scent, 

And  slept  in  a  reverie  its  memory  lent. 

But  the  perfume  still  lingers — for  every  flower's 
death, 

Another  awaits  to  inhale  its  last  breath, 

And  the  rose-covered  sorrows,  though  great 
be  their  mound, 

Are  mighty  when  sorrows  with  roses  are  found. 

The  heart  that  has  suffered  for  love,  only 
grows 

To  greatness  through  sorrow — for  sorrow  be- 
stows 

A  wreath,  until  then,  that  the  heart  never 
knows." 

But  the  doctor  was  worried — Chlorice  near  the 
veil 

That  marks  the  division  of  life; — on  the  scale 

Whose  weights  hold  the  balance,  and  one  is 
called  Death, 

The  other  is  Life — and  existence  is  Breath, 

That  sometimes  takes  flight  like  a  flash,  and 
then, 


3  CirilD  of  £otie rr 

Never  re-enters  the  body  again. 
He  patiently  waited:  the  morn  crept  to  night, 
He  counted  the  hours  on  their  tardy  flight, 
And  great  the  suspense  while  the  balance  hung ; 
No  trace  of  a  quiver  as  the  weights  firmly  clung. 
But  soon  they  began  in  their  battle  for  life ; 
They  swayed  back  and  forth  in  their  mighty 

strife, 
And  the  measure   of  Life   added  more  to  its 

weight 

From  Love  as  it  coated  its  depths  innate. 
— And  the  battle  extended  to  dawn's  first  light, 
And  then  a  sweet  babe  sprang  to  earth  in  its 

flight. 

And  with  its  first  cry,  shouted,  "I  am  Love, 
And  burst  to  existence  from  heaven  above, 
And  the  law  of  God  is  greater  than 
The  law  on  earth,  that's  made  by  man." 


XIV 

The  weeks  passed  away — each  week  on  as  be- 
fore; 

Each  week  found  the  chain  on  her  neck  that  she 
wore; 

Its  tiny  gold  heart  heard  her  heart's  beats  each 
day, 


78 a  CfriID  of  Lotie 

And  she  list  in  turn  to  hear  its   dear  heart 

say 
Its  wild  words  of  love — and  her  heart  whispered 

low, 

"I  love — oh,  how  useless  to  say  'Nay,  not  so.'  ' 
She  watched  his  hair  streak  with  the  first  hairs 

of  gray, 
And  loved  him  more  still  as  the  white  hairs  held 

sway. 

But  oh!  such  a  longing — her  heart  ever  crying 
For  him;  though  it  beat — it  was  day  by  day 

dying. 

Her  babe,  as  it  grew,  seemed  to  her  more  en- 
deared ; 
She  watched  every  breath  for  its  welfare — she 

feared 

Some  sickness  might  rob  her — were  she  so  bereft 
Of  all — all  that  brightened  the  heart  she  had 

left, 
How  could  she  exist ! — thus  she  thought — and 

a  flutter 
Leaped  up  in  her  heart,  beating  fear  it  failed 

utter. 
And    then    she    considered,    how    happy — how 

blest, 

If  only  the  babe  was  her  hungry  heart's  quest; 
To  rob  her  of  everything  else,  and  to  leave 
Her  babe — this  alone  was  enough  to  receive; 
And  she  crooned  a  song  to  its  sleeping  ears, 


CirilD  of  Lotie  79 


And   this   is   the   song   that   absorbed   all  her 
tears  : 

"Go  to  sleep,  little  one,  while  mother  sings 
Of  all  the  joy  that  your  little  self  brings; 
Close  your  soft  eyes  so  the  sun  can't  reflect 
Sunshine  to  waken  you,  while  I  protect. 

"Rock-a-bye,  baby,  mother's  dear, 
Sleep  in  my  arms  that  hold  you  near, 
Rest  near  my  heart  ;  let  my  heart  within 
Beat  to  the  end  what  your  love  made  begin. 

"Oh,  such  a  love  has  awakened  my  heart, 
Never  to  sleep  again,  since  you  are  part, 
Tiny  —  though     tiny  —  your     love     wraps 

around 
The  world  great  and  mighty,   there,  you 

can  be  found. 

"Rock-a-bye,  baby,  asleep  or  awake, 
Your  mother  is  near  and  will  never  for- 

sake; 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep  in  the  bed  of  my  heart, 
List  to  the  song  that  you  hear  it  impart." 

But  joy  is  for  all,  but  the  great  wheel  of  Time 
Turns  slowly,  and  each  one  must  wait  for  the 
chime 


so  a  CfrilD  of 


That    rings    to    distribute    our   blessings    and 

share, 
And  sometimes  we  watch  ere  the  spoke  of  joy's 

there. 
But  great  are  the  spokes  that  revolve  in  this 

wheel, 
And  blessed  should  we  be,  when  we  list  to  the 

peal 

Announcing  to  us  we  are  counted  there, 
Reaping  with  others  all  blessings  we  share. 

When  baby  was  three,  then  the  mighty  chain 
That  bound  them  in  heaven  was  gilded  again 
By  the  tie  of  man  —  but  the  strength  was  the 

same, 

No  stronger  —  yet  bronzed  for  the  earthly  gaze, 
To  move  with  the  laws  of  the  earthly  ways. 
And    Chlorice   was   the   vine  —  and  Doctor   De 

Clue 

The  tree  that  enfolded  the  vine  when  it  grew, 
And  the  babe  was  the  blossom  that  burst  to 

bloom 
From  the  vine  that  entwined  for  the  tree  to  con- 

sume. i 


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